


Windwalker Part 2: Boreas

by Teutonic_Titwillow



Series: Windwalker [2]
Category: Forgotten Realms, Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 Edition, Earth meets the Forgotten Realms, Fantasy, Female Anti-Hero, Gen, Major Original Character(s), Shadows of Undrentide, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:17:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 59
Words: 159,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teutonic_Titwillow/pseuds/Teutonic_Titwillow
Summary: Rebecca Blumenthal is all alone in a strange new world, and she's starting to think she only has herself to blame. Friendless, clueless, and hopeless, all she wants is a way back home. But the way is long and winding, and there's a cold wind coming in from the north.Shadows of Undrentide. Earth meets Faerun. Strongly influenced by Stephen R. Donaldson's Mordant's Need and Thomas Covenant series, plus two of my favorite authors who always influence me, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Protagonist described as "delightfully acerbic" and "a profane, temperamental gift" by reviewers. Lots of twists, sharp right turns, banter, humor, angst, and slow character development from a wildly flailing nitwit into a wildly flailing heroine. But still mostly a nitwit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> This story is the second part of a trilogy that started going up at Fanfiction.net a while ago, and is now (finally) being finished.
> 
> Rated M for violence, adult themes, and language, just to be on the safe side.
> 
> It would probably be a good idea to read Part One: Notus before starting on this. You could get by without it, but you'll miss a lot of background info and character evolution if you do. (Fortunately, Notus isn't too long a read.)
> 
> Credit where credit's due: the concept of giving a little love to an obscure deity from FR lore started germinating in my head after reading Jade Sabre's excellent NWN2 fic, "Not Yet By Lightning". Many thanks to her, because I'd never have stumbled across Shaundakul's bio otherwise, and this story could not have come into existence without him.
> 
> I'm not a stickler for rules. I'm passingly familiar with D&D 3.5e rules and will try to adhere to them, but I hate Forgotten Realms stories where you can hear dice rolling in the background, so I'll bend the rules when it suits the narrative, too.
> 
> I'll post lyrics or poems at the beginning of chapters if I find ones that fit, but if I don't, I won't push it.
> 
> And last, but not least: it'll be a long ride, but I hope it'll be fun, and I hope I can keep it interesting even if we enter more familiar territory.
> 
> And who knows where we'll end up at the end of things...

**Windwalker II: Boreas**

* * *

_Boreas: The god of the north winds. The bringer of ice and blizzards and the biting winds of winter. The Devouring One._

"Poseidon massed the clouds, clutched his trident and churned the ocean up; he roused all the blasts of all the Winds and swathed earth and sea alike in clouds; down from the sky rushed the dark. Euros and Notos clashed together, the stormy Zephyros and the sky-born billow-driving Boreas."

\- Homer, "The Odyssey"

 _But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews,_  
_Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse,_  
_Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay,  
_ _Time conquers all, and we must Time obey._

_\- Alexander Pope, "Ode to Winter"_

* * *

Terror.

I was cocooned in white. The weight of it bore down on me from all sides.

Panic flooded my senses. Instinctively, I bucked, heaving against the weight that pressed down on me.

I had to get free. I couldn't move my arms. I had to get free. I couldn't bear this.

I shoved at the snow with all my might, again and again and again. I was frantic.

The weight shifted. Then it settled around me again, groaning.

My breath came in harsh, sobbing pants. More snow filled my mouth, and I sputtered and gagged, turning my head to the side.

I couldn't move my arms. I was shivering. My teeth chattered together hard enough to make my jaw ache.

There was something hard pressing against my ribs. When I shifted, it did as well. The snow overheard groaned slightly.

 _Silent Partner,_ I thought. It had fallen with me. It was stuck in the snow. Maybe some of it was above the surface.

Maybe someone would see it. Maybe they'd help me.

"Help," I whispered. More snow filled my mouth, and I spat it out. I raised my voice. "Help!"

My voice sounded muffled, even to myself.

It occurred to me that there might be no one out there. I might be all alone.

I screamed until my voice splintered. "GET ME OUT OF HERE!" I sobbed. "Somebody get me out of here!"

After a while, my head began to spin. I lost what strength I had, going as limp as a rag except for the fine tremors going through my limbs. My breath rasped. Spots danced in front of my eyes.

I couldn't believe this was happening to me. It _couldn't_ happen to me. This wasn't right.

My thoughts spun in circles.

I didn't want to die this way. Shaundakul had promised to help me. Then he'd left me. Maybe I'd see dad again. He'd be so disappointed if he saw me again. I'd been the apple of his eye, all right, right up until I'd turned out to be a disgrace to my blue blood, which was probably going to be found splattered all over the landscape come spring…Shaundakul had promised to get me home. Now where was he? Where were all of his promises, all of his assurances that we were _called_ to each other?

A spike of adrenaline surged through me. My body jerked. "You son of a bitch!" I screamed. "So where's your fucking miracle now?"

The scream pulled melting snow into my lungs. I went into a fit of choking.

Then I laid back and shivered, my eyes streaming tears and my breath whistling in my lungs. I tried to keep my teeth from chattering, but I couldn't seem to.

 _You promised,_ I thought faintly.

Nobody answered.

Darkness closed in at the edges of my vision.

Eventually, I sensed a shift in the weight which pinned me.

Someone shouted something. They sounded very far away.

Snow crunched. There was light. Then there was the faint brush of air.

Then I was being lifted by strong hands.

A strange, indifferent lassitude infused me. I didn't know where I was, or what was happening. Didn't care.

I was weightless. I was moving.

Then the movement stopped, and I felt the pressure of a hard surface against my back.

The indifferent lassitude vanished in a furnace-flash of agony, somewhere around my chest. I tried to scream, but I couldn't seem to draw enough breath.

Then something scratchy and hot surrounded me. Feebly, I struggled against it, tried to throw it off. I didn't feel cold. I felt hot, too hot. I was burning up.

Someone stopped me. "Hold still, lass," a gruff voice said. "Ye've got to stay warm."

 _No,_ I thought. _I'm fine. Really._

Then the waters of oblivion closed in over my head, and that was the end of everything for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

I was on fire. Heat rose from my skin like a fire from a furnace.

Then I was frozen. My blood had turned to icewater. Shivers went through me in waves.

The strangest of sights passed before my eyes.

Harry died again, and then rose up, and his head was the head of a grinning gnoll. He lifted up Sasha, whose white fur was matted with blood. Then my poor cat raised her head and opened her mouth, and four and twenty blackbirds came pouring out from between her needlelike little fangs.

Dad stepped through a picture frame and vanished, telling me that I had to follow him, but when I tried to step through the picture frame it fell to pieces at my feet. Frantic, I tried again and again to pick up the pieces and put the frame back together again, but they kept crumbling to dust in my fingers.

Then Teddy appeared, unrolling a scroll that crawled black with spiders. He threw a fireball at the mountain. It came down on top of us. "A thousand apologies!" he exclaimed, as the snow buried us both. "What a mudgin I am!"

There was something above me, smothering me, unending white that wouldn't move. I screamed in a blind panic and tried to fight free.

A pair of hands held me down. "Relax," a deep voice said. "Whatever yer seein', 'tis not a real thing. Ye're safe." Something clinked. "Now quit yer flailin'. Drink this down, there's a good girl."

Then someone grabbed my jaw and forced a cool, odd-tasting liquid past my lips. I choked and sputtered, but my tormentor didn't stop until I'd swallowed the stuff down. Then he let me be.

The visions passed. My world swayed and creaked. It melted into one long, delirious blur.

Sometimes, I opened my eyes and saw the sky going past. I watched it for a while, floating in a fevered haze.

There were clouds in the sky. I didn't like them. They reminded me of snow.

After a while, my eyes drifted shut as if I had lead weights attached to my eyelids. The world went away again.

The next time I opened my eyes, I saw a ceiling.

The beams were dark and rough-hewn. The spaces between them were plastered white.

I felt like the inside of my head had been scraped out and filled with iron filings. _And_ I felt like I'd had my veins pumped full of molasses. _And_ I felt like some deranged clown had made a pair of balloon animals out of my lungs.

In other words, I felt like hammered shit.

I realized that I was lying beneath a pile of blankets. Weakly, my pulse suddenly jumping into my throat, I tried to lift my hands to push the blankets off of me. I suddenly hated, hated, _hated_ that feeling of having all of that weight on top of me, hated it beyond all reason.

I heard a startled exclamation. A chair scraped. "Ye're awake!" a feminine voice exclaimed. It lifted into a shout. "Mother! She's awake!" the girl called.

Footsteps thudded into the room. "Well, finally," another woman's voice said, sounding relieved. "And here I was thinkin' that she was set to sleep the year away." A cool hand touched my forehead. "Fever's broken, thank the Hearthmother. How do ye feel, lass?"

I managed to turn my head enough to see the person who was standing at my bedside.

I saw a broad, full-lipped face framed by golden braids. My nursemaid was obviously a woman, but her jaw was very square, and her features looked like they'd been chiseled out of granite.

It was her eyes that really caught my attention, though. Mannish as her features were, her eyes were gorgeous – a bright, emerald green that was almost gemlike in its clarity.

My cracked and crusted lips parted. "Who're you?" I croaked.

The woman smiled at me. "My name is Toli," she said. "Toli Hurst, wife to Nathan Hurst and mother to Becka Hurst. On behalf of us all, I bid ye welcome to our homestead."

Then she pulled up a stool and sat. "Now," she said. "Since ye're obviously well enough to be askin' questions…what would ye like to eat?"


	3. Chapter 3

Nathan Hurst's homecoming startled me out of a fitful doze.

A door slammed somewhere. I heard the stomp of booted feet.

Toli bellowed from the rear of the house. "Get that mud off of yer shoes before ye come in here, ye daft dwarf! I just cleaned that floor!"

"Quit yer hollerin', woman!" a man's voice hollered back. It was deep and bassy, so much so that it practically shook the sturdy lathe and plaster walls. Something thumped to the floor. "Hell's Bells. Ye'd think a man could get a kinder welcome than that from his own wife."

Toli laughed. Her footsteps passed by my room, heading towards the front door. There was a brief, busy silence, and then: "There. Is that more what ye had in mind, me dear one?"

I heard a deep chuckle. "Aye. Now _that's_ a proper greetin'," he said. There was another significant pause. "So," the man asked heartily. "How's our little stray?"

"Awake, thank the Hearthmother."

"Awake?" He sounded startled. Footsteps approached my room. "Well, what do ye know?" the man marveled from the threshold. "She is indeed."

The thought entered my sleep-fogged brain that maybe I should sit up and say hello. I tried to push myself up.

I failed. What happened, instead, is that I went straight into a sideways slump, sucking in a breath and wrapping a protective arm around my ribs. They _hurt_. What the hell had _happened_ to me?

A strong arm slipped behind my shoulders. "Easy, now," he-who-was-evidently-Nathan cautioned. "Ye've had a rough time of it."

That was an understatement. I felt as wobbly as a newborn kitten, and my attention span was only marginally less spastic.

With the man's help, I managed to get into a sitting position and propped up against a stack of pillows. Once there, I had to close my eyes against a wave of dizziness and get my breath back. When I opened my eyes again, I turned to look at my strange benefactor.

I blinked, my head reeling in confusion as I tried to take everything in.

And then I said the stupidest thing imaginable.

"Uh. What's wrong with your skin? Are you sick?" I asked weakly.

The grey-skinned, grey-bearded man – _No,_ I thought, _Not a man. A dwarf. He's a dwarf._ \- looked at me. Almost all expression went away from his face, leaving only a remnant that looked like wariness. "No. Me skin's this way 'cause I'm a duergar," he said at last, tersely.

"Oh. Okay," I said meekly. I mulled it over. "Um. What's a duergar?"

He stared at me for a moment. Then he burst into a roar of laughter. "What's a duergar?" he repeated, and pounded his fist against his thigh, still laughing. "What's a duergar, she asks?" He shook his head. "Moradin's Eyeteeth, lass. Did that avalanche knock all the wits out o' ye?"

I scowled defensively. "It didn't," I insisted. "Really. I'm not stupid…not that much, anyway. I just…" My voice trailed off. "I just don't know what a duergar is," I mumbled.

Nathan looked at me as if he wasn't quite sure to make of me.

Then he spoke. "We're a race o' dwarf that mines deeper than any other," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "The other clans say that our deep-delvin' has turned our nature towards darkness. Their opinion-" He grimaced, and ran a hand through his mane of grey hair. "Their opinion's not without foundation," he admitted reluctantly. "Most of my people follow evil gods. Greed informs their acts, and the lust for power drives them to cruelty. It's the way o' things. We're born into it, raised up in it." His voice became heavy. "Most of us die in it."

My mouth formed an 'O' of shocked comprehension.

Then I frowned, and, with way more effort than such a movement should have required, I turned my head to look at this so-called _duergar_ more fully.

He had the same kind of broad, chiseled face that seemed typical of dwarves, but his skin was grey – not just greyish, but really, truly grey, the color of stone, with a purplish tint to his cheeks and lips. His hair and beard were grey as well, and his eyes were the color of fog.

I still wasn't really up to speed on current events, but I was pretty sure that the person in front of me had something to do with the fact that I was still alive – and that he wasn't doing it just to hack me into little pieces later on and put me through his wood chipper. That is, if they even _had_ wood chippers in this world. Maybe they just fed you to the dragons or something.

Besides, in my experience bad people usually smiled while they conned you, whereas this one just looked tired and full of unnamed regrets.

"You don't seem so evil to me," I said at last.

He reared back as if what I'd said had just floored him. "Then maybe ye do have some wit about ye after all," he said after a long pause. He sounded bemused. "No. Most of my people are driven to evil. But not all. Some few of us even escape, though for us there's no goin' back. We're as good as dead to those we leave behind, and dead we'll be for certain if we show our faces in the clanhame." He looked at me more closely. "If ye don't mind my askin'," he said then. "Who are ye, that ye don't even know a duergar when ye see one?" His tone was amused. "And what were ye doin' on that mountain, to end up buried in an avalanche?"

I flinched at the reminder _white all around me white above me crushing I can't breathe_ and took a shuddering breath. "Something stupid," I said after a while.

He gave me a penetrating look with those clear grey eyes of his. "Well," he said. "Ye're a lucky one, then, that yer stupidity wasn't the end of ye." He laughed shortly. "It very nearly was. Why, if it hadn't been for that wind, I'd never even have known ye were there."

I froze. "Wind?" I asked sharply. "What wind?"

The duergar stroked his beard. "'Twas the strangest thing," he said. "I'd been pannin' for gold – the streams in the Lost Peaks are always good for a few ounces, and I'd some leisure before the harvest – and was just headin' back home when this almighty wind rose up and blasted a load of snow straight in my face. It stung like the devil, I'll tell ye, and when it cleared, I spied that staff o' yers, sticking up just out o' the fall. So, I dug around it a bit, and when I saw ye stuck all the way down in there, I pulled ye out and loaded ye onto me wagon." He cleared his throat. "I figured I might as well bring ye back here and see what Toli could do for ye," he said gruffly, not meeting my eyes. "'Twas not as if the weight of some skinny surfacer lass would slow me down any."

I stared straight ahead, not really seeing anything that was in front of me. "The wind," I repeated flatly.

"Aye." Nathan smiled. "Who knows? Maybe someone up there was lookin' out for ye."

I was silent for a long time.

I remembered how the winds had howled, up on that mountain peak. I remembered how the wind had formed a wall to block me when I went for him, as if it moved at _his_ command.

I remembered _his_ voice. It had been a roll of thunder. It had been the whisper of a summer breeze. It had been all that and everything in between.

_You son of a bitch,_ I thought bitterly. _You strand me there, and then you get me out – for what? You want me to be grateful? You want me to grovel?_

"Maybe," I said after a while. My mouth twisted grimly. "But if he expects any thanks from me, he can sit on it and spin."


	4. Chapter 4

I got stronger by the day, though I still got tired way too easily, and my whole body ached with fading bruises.

The bruises were worst on the left side of my chest and back, which looked like some would-be impressionist painter had decided to recreate a spring meadow full of wildflowers – all over my ribcage. I didn't even know how to _name_ some of the colors my skin was turning.

"We found a healing potion in yer pack," Nathan explained. "Good thing ye were carryin' it, else ye'd never have been able to fight off yer fever. Not with those cracked ribs o' yers and gods know what else sappin' yer strength."

That healing potion had been from Teddy, a little offhand gift before I hit the road. If I ever saw that gnome again, I was going to pick him up and give him a great, big, sloppy kiss - pointy hat, crabby familiar and all. His gift had probably saved my life.

I began to feel better, bit by bit, but that tingle beneath my breastbone – the one that had been there since that son of a bitch of a god had done whatever it was that he'd done to me – didn't go away.

Sometimes the sensation was stronger. Sometimes it was barely there. But I seemed to feel it most when the wind changed.

I learned that the Hursts lived on a sprawling farmstead on the slope of a wide valley. They kept fields of crops, herds of goats and cows, and a whole madly clucking flock of chickens.

They also had a blind old barn cat named Oli, whom Nathan had refused to get rid of, claiming that age and experience made Oli a better mouser than any of those silly young cats, anyway. There were also a couple of stray dogs, friendly brindled mutts named Glim and Glam, whom Toli had found half-drowned and floating downriver in a sack when they were still puppies.

To round out the crew, a crow the family called Thra could often be found hopping around the yard. He had fallen from his nest as a baby and broken his wing. Becka had found him and patiently nursed him back to health. Now the creature hung around on a more or less permanent basis, cocking his bedraggled black head at me and begging for scraps.

I tossed a few crusts of bread to Thra. Unlike Teddy's familiar, Char, Thra didn't talk, so he was actually pretty cute. So was Oli, who liked to curl up on my lap and purr himself to sleep. The old cat seemed happy to have found a warm lap that didn't move around too much. I stroked his fur and let him be.

The whole family seemed to have a soft spot for strays and hard luck cases. I was glad that they did, though it was kind of embarrassing to be lumped together with blind cats and drowned puppies and broken-winged birds.

Nathan was often outside during the day, tending to the farm with a couple of farmhands. Toli and Becka managed the house and turned out mind-boggling amounts of food from their huge, low-beamed kitchen.

I tried to help them, because I was so sick of sitting still and doing nothing that I could just scream. The girls would hear nothing of it.

"Ye just rest, lass," Toli tutted, pushing me down into an overstuffed chair. "Ye're not healed yet. Good Gods, girl, just look at ye! Ye're naught but skin and bones!"

Maybe she was right. I'd always been on the wiry side, but after my long sickness, I was edging closer to cadaverous. My hip bones were sticking out prominently, and my face was gaunt. The shadows under my eyes were dark as bruises.

I hadn't been sleeping well. I kept having nightmares _buried in white so cold can't get out can't breathe_ and jerking awake well before dawn, my pulse hammering so hard that I couldn't hear anything over the rush of blood in my ears.

After too many nights like that, I started to pass each day in an ever more exhausted haze.

Maybe that was why I gave in to Toli and Becka's pampering. They were so kind, and I was just so _tired_.

My brilliant plan for getting home had failed, and I couldn't even bring myself to care, or to think of what to do next. I felt dull and drained, and all I wanted to do was sleep – or try to. Failing that, I sat and watched the world go by, because even thinking took too much out of me.

When the weather was nice, I meekly let the two women bundle me out onto the porch, where I could look out over the farm and the valley below it.

The farm was well into the mountains. Up above, jagged grey-and-white peaks reared their hoary heads. Tall, dark green pines bristled on their slopes, standing straight as arrows. Below, the grass was as green as Toli's eyes, and a frothing river snaked its way across the valley floor.

"What river is that?" I asked one of the farmhands one day as he filled a bucket at the well's pump.

He gave me a queer look, and glanced over his shoulder at the river. "The Rauvin," he said. "Say, you ain't from around here, are you?"

I felt a sudden, wrenching stab of homesickness, so strong it almost took my breath away. I wasn't sure whether to be glad that something had penetrated the fog of apathy that surrounded me, or upset that something finally had. A bitter smile twisted my lips. "No," I said. "I'm not."

As I began to feel better, I took long walks around the property. Oli and Thra and Glim and Glam often tagged at my heels. Thra pestered the cows, Oli pestered Thra, and Glim and Glam pestered everyone they could. Watching them made me smile, sometimes. That was nice.

Then, one day at dinner, Nathan asked me where I _was_ from – and where I planned to go. "Ye're welcome to stay on until ye're recovered, mind," he hastened to say. "After that – well, if ye've got nowhere to go, we could find a place for ye on the farm. There's always some work that needs doin'."

Toli, seemingly absorbed in the task of slicing a roast, laughed. "Ye cannot make this girl into a farmhand, me dear." she said. "She's not made for such things."

Nathan scowled at his wife. "Now what's this nonsense you're on about, woman?" he demanded.

Becka rested her chin on her hand and gazed at me thoughtfully. She had a faint grey tint to her skin, though not as much as her father did, and her eyes were green as moss. "Haven't ye seen her hands, da?" she said tartly. "They're so fine and smooth. Look at them! And look at how she sits up so straight, and eats her food so daintily." She smiled at me, her cheeks dimpling. "Why, ye're just like a princess."

Toli nodded her agreement. "Last time I saw table manners like that was at a palace," she said, and shot me a dimpled smile that was the mirror image of her daughter's. "Do nae be ridiculous, Hurst. This girl's of high and noble blood. Ye can't make her into a cowherd."

Nathan looked at me sharply. His eyes narrowed. "Moradin bless me," he swore. "Ye're right."

"Of course we are, ye dafty," Toli said calmly. "Now, if ye kept yer eyes in yer head rather than losin' em in yer beard along with last night's supper, ye might even see the same as us." She carried the platter back to the table and set it down. Then she sat. "The question is," she asked gently, "…what is a lady like her doin' all the way out here?"

I laid down my fork and knife and stared at my plate, hunching my shoulders a little self-consciously. A flush spread across my cheeks. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what answer to give. I could always lie, but the Hursts had been so kind to me. How could I lie to them? God, but I was so damned tired of lies, of avoidance…of everything.

"Ach, now ye've gone and made her all upset," Nathan said gruffly. "Why can't the two of ye show some tact?"

"Oh, that's a fine accusation to be comin' from ye, Da," Becka returned tartly, unfazed by her father's grumbling.

I fiddled with my napkin. "It's…okay," I mumbled. "Really. I just…" I cleared my throat, and tried to marshal my thoughts.

I'd been a press secretary – it had been in another life, it seemed, but I knew how to speak the truth by halves. I knew how to field tough questions.

_I used to know,_ I corrected silently. _Now…I don't even know what the questions are, much less the answers._

A soft puff of breath escaped my lips. It was barely even a sigh. "I used to be an heiress – one of the richest ones in the city," I said to the tablecloth. "Then my father died, and my stepmother took everything. The houses, the money - everything. I left - I had to, at least...I thought so, even though I didn't…I didn't really have anywhere else to go."

The table fell silent.

Toli was the first to speak. "Oh, ye poor child," she murmured. "What a hard and heavy blow ye've been dealt."

Nathan cleared his throat. "But what brought ye here, lass?" he asked bluntly. "Forgive me for askin', but it seems a mite strange for a high born lady to go wanderin' up on a mountain all alone like that, no matter her circumstances."

The next part was harder to explain. "A-after my father died, I was taken far away from home, and stranded in a place I didn't know," I said. "Now I'm lost. I was trying to find my way back, to set things right, but…" My words dribbled off.

"But ye cannae find the way home, and ye're all alone with no one to help ye," Becka finished for me. She turned to her father, her expression pleading. "Da, that isn't just! It isn't fair! Can't ye do something to help her?"

The duergar sighed. "Daughter, ye know I cannae leave the farm in this season. Certainly not – I beg yer pardon, Rebecca – but certainly not to traipse to gods-only-know-where and back." He pinned me with a thoughtful stare. "Where _do_ ye come from, anyway?"

My mouth opened and closed. "Um," I said. "I, uh-"

Toli came to my rescue, though probably not on purpose. "Ye are right, of course," she said to her husband. "We need ye here, and winter's not far off. Ye know how dangerous the roads can be. I won't let ye go off and risk yerself and the girl like that. Not now. Not ever."

Nathan blinked. "Won't _let_?" he repeated incredulously.

His wife ignored his bluster. She looked at me, her emerald eyes sympathetic. "But that's not to say that we'll abandon some poor, lost lamb to her fate," she reassured me. "I'd never be able to live with myself if I allowed such a thing to happen." She looked at Nathan. "What of yer friend who lives over the rise?" she asked. "He's a wise one, and he's travelled far in his life. Might it be that he'll know what to do for the girl?"

Nathan's bushy eyebrows twitched. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It might be," he agreed slowly. "It might very well be."

I looked back and forth between them. "Who are you talking about?" I asked, bewildered. "What can who do?"

Nathan drummed his fingers on the table, frowning in calculation. "He's a canny old wizard," he said absently. "Retired now, but that's not to say that he's lost any of his edge. Aye….aye!" he said, and he struck his fist lightly against the table, his face suddenly decisive. "If anyone can think of some way to help ye, it would be him. I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

I felt swept up in a very confusing tide. I struck out for some kind of clarity. "What's his name?"

"His name?" Nathan smiled. "His name is Drogan Droganson – and he's a fine old dwarf to be knowin', I assure ye."


	5. Chapter 5

_Misty morning, clouds in the sky_   
_Without warning, the wizard walks by_   
_Casting his shadow, weaving his spell_   
_Funny clothes, tinkling bell_

_Evil power disappears_   
_Demons worry when the wizard is near_   
_He turns tears into joy_   
_Everyone's happy when the wizard walks by_

_Never talking_   
_Just keeps walking_   
_spreading his magic_

_\- Black Sabbath, "The Wizard"  
_

* * *

The white-bearded, bespectacled old dwarf sat us down at his long pine table and poured us some tea. Then he exhorted us to sit and make ourselves at home.

Through Teddy's descriptions and my own experiences, I'd come to associate dwarves with gruffness and beer and a sort of hard-headed, earthy practicality. 

I hadn't heretofore associated them with bone china, herbal tea, and home-baked cookies.

Someone had put a vase of cut daisies on the table. The vase sat on top of a very pretty lace doily.

I'd never associated _that_ with dwarves, either. Axes, yes. Floral arrangements, not so much.

_Well, you learn something new every day,_ I thought bemusedly. I picked up a cookie and nibbled on it. It tasted almond-ey, and was covered in powdered sugar.

I looked around curiously while Drogan and Nathan exchanged pleasantries. The house we were in was almost obsessively neat. The room we were in was a long, low chamber, with a massive fireplace at one end and lots of comfortable-looking, solid furniture all around. The beams were polished oak, and there were carpets strewn all over the knotty pine floor.

The walls might have been white plaster. It was hard to tell for sure, because every available inch of them was taken up by bookcases, all jammed to the brim with books and tight, tidy stacks of paper. The smell of the room made me feel like I was in a library – that combined scent of dust, paper, ink, and old leather bindings, with a warm undertone of aged wood and dried lilacs.

It reminded me of my family's country house. It was a little plain, and a little worn, but it felt warm and clean and safe. It felt homey.

I decided that liked it. I reached for another cookie.

I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over reflexively.

A spiky, green-scaled head sprang up from the hedges just outside the window.

It looked at me. It was small, not much larger than a cat, and it eyes were reptilian, with slit pupils and weird irises that swirled with rainbow color, like a kaleidoscope.

The creature caught me looking back at it.

Very deliberately, it crossed its eyes, stuck out a forked pink tongue, and blew a raspberry at me.

Then it vanished.

I blinked and looked away. The two dwarves were still talking. They didn't appear to have noticed anything strange.

_Maybe I'm not totally over the fever,_ I thought. _I'm still seeing things._ Then I forgot all about it.

Our needs seen to, Drogan hauled himself back into his chair and made himself comfortable. He used a cane to walk, and his hands were gnarled.

Without warning, I felt that damned, ever-present tingle in my chest give a funny twitch. My vision seemed to shift, and I could swear that I saw beneath Drogan's skin, straight to the patterns of veins and muscle and bone. The area around his knuckle joints radiated an angry red heat. The same went for his knees.

I blinked owlishly. The vision went away. After a second's thought, I dismissed it as another trick of the light and told myself that I needed to catch up on my sleep.

Drogan looked at us, raising one bushy eyebrow. "So," he said heartily. "What brings the two of ye to my house today?"

Nathan and I exchanged glances. "Go on, lass," the duergar urged. "Tell him what ye told me." He must have taken my hesitation for reluctance, because he added, "'Tis all right. Ye can trust him."

I nodded. Then, taking a deep breath, I gave Drogan the same story that I'd given Nathan.

After I was done, Drogan sat back. He rubbed his bearded chin and peered at me over the edge of his glasses. "Hmm," he said. "Hmm."

I frowned warily. "What is it?"

"Hmm?" The old dwarf blinked abstractedly. He waved his hand. "Oh, nothin'. 'Tis a very interesting tale, to be sure. Very interesting, indeed." He looked at Nathan. "Nathan, me old friend," he said then. "Would ye mind givin' us a moment alone? I've got a few more questions I'd like to ask of our lass here."

Nathan nodded and pushed his chair back. "I'll be in the garden," he said, and grinned. "Ye still got that cherry tree?"

"Aye, and it's still fruitin', so help yerself," Drogan said drily. "Just try to leave me a few."

Nathan left.

Drogan clasped his hands on the handle of his cane and studied me for a while without saying a word. His eyes were as blue as a robin's egg, and their gaze was unnervingly steady.

After a while, I began to fidget. I couldn't help it. The old dwarf's silence was an almost palpable weight.

When he finally spoke, I jumped.

"Did ye know that ye fiddle with yer hair when ye lie?" he remarked innocently.

I goggled at him. "What?" I asked stupidly. I blinked and took my hand away from my hair. "I do not!"

He chuckled at my denial. "Ye might want to bear that in mind," he said conversationally. "Just in case ye plan to make this lyin' o' yers into a hobby." He leaned back and set his cane aside. "Now," he said, and gave me a penetrating stare that practically pinned me to my chair. "Tell me the truth, lass. The real truth. Who are ye, where are ye from, and what do ye want?"

I groped for words. My lips moved. No sound came out of my mouth except for a garbled wheeze.

The dwarf sighed. "Lass, either breathe in or breathe out, but do me a favor and don't try to do both at once. It makes ye look like a fish."

_That_ got to me. I closed my mouth and narrowed my eyes indignantly. "What makes you think that I'm lying?" I asked hotly.

"Because yer story doesn't fit. It leaves too many things out." He smiled. "And ye're still messin' with yer hair."

I yanked my hand away from my hair and clasped both hands in my lap. "Fine," I said. I gritted my teeth. "My name is Rebecca Blumenthal," I said, and took a deep, bracing breath. "And you're right. I'm not from around here. I'm not even from this world."

And then, as if a dam had burst, the words began to pour out of me. I couldn't have held them back if I tried.

I told him about the world I'd come from, and the disaster of my life back home. I told him about my first meeting with the strange man in the park. I told him of the portal, and everything after. I told him of my search for Shaundakul – that bastard son of a syphilitic whore - and how _that_ little endeavor had ended up.

"He told me that he'd help me find a portal home," I said dully, staring at my hands. "Then he vanished. I haven't heard from him since." I uttered a short, bitter laugh. "I guess he decided that he didn't want to help me, after all."

Drogan stirred. "And then ye got caught in that avalanche, and the good Nathan pulled ye out, dusted ye off, and brought ye to me," he said. He quirked a bushy white eyebrow at me. "That was some miraculously good luck ye had there."

I laughed shortly. I thought of the wind, gusting over my snowy, would-be grave. "Yeah. Except that it was miraculously bad luck that I ended up there in the first place, so it kind of evens out," I said. I frowned. "There was this huge…thing. Like a man, but dumb and ugly and as tall as a tree. He called himself Mongo."

"Mmh-hmm. Sounds like ye ran into a hill giant." Drogan's eyes twinkled. "Brought the mountain down on ye, did he?"

I blinked. "Yes," I said. "How did you know?"

"Hill giants are stupid beasts. They have a hard time graspin' the idea that if ye hit a mountain hard enough, it might just fall down on yer head." Drogan stroked his beard, his eyes pensive behind their spectacles. "Well, if it's a portal to yer home that ye wish to find, ye'd best be knowin' that such portals are hard to track down, and they're all in dangerous, hard-to-reach places. Unless ye know how to survive alone out there, and how to defend yerself against any enemies ye're likely to meet, ye'll never find what ye seek."

My shoulders slumped a little more at each word. By the time he was finished speaking, I was slouched over the table in abject misery. "I can't even make it down a mountain without almost getting myself killed," I whispered. My forehead hit the table. "Christ," I mumbled to the pine. "This is like looking for a needle in the haystack while the haystack's busy trying to rip my head off and eat it."

Drogan went quiet for a minute. "Do ye know how to use that staff ye carry?" he asked suddenly.

I lifted my head. My forehead furrowed. "Say what?" I asked blankly.

"That zalantar staff ye brought with ye," the dwarf repeated, slowly and clearly, like speaking to a child. "Can ye fight with it?"

I blinked. "Oh," I said. Then I took in the look of thoughtful calculation on Drogan's face, and some corroded remnant of my political instincts told me that he was probably asking this question for a reason, and it wasn't because he wanted to hear how incompetent I was in a fight. I crossed my fingers beneath the table. "Sure. Yeah. I can use it."

"Really? Well, come with me, then." The dwarf stood creakingly and reached for his cane. "And bring that staff with ye."

Confused, I obeyed. "Where are we going?" I asked.

Drogan led me out of the front door and down the hill, towards a big wooden barn. "Just in here," he said, and held the door open for me. "Mind yer head."

I ducked inside. The air smelled of hay and manure. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that were coming in through the high, narrow windows. Off in the stalls, something big shifted its weight and went, 'mrrrmmmmm?'.

I sneezed. "Wow," I said. "It smells really…agricultural in here."

"Cows can have that effect," Drogan said blithely. He stopped and rested his weight on his cane. "All right," he added. "Get a grip on yer weapon and let's see how ye do."

I looked at him dubiously. "Am I supposed to…fight you? Or something?" I asked.

"Not me," Drogan said. "'Or somethin'' is a fair guess, though."

Then he thumped the butt of his cane against the floor and pointed it at a pile of straw.

A beam of red light shot out of the cane and struck the pile.

The straw fountained into the air and whirled around as if it had just been swept up into a miniature tornado.

Then it coalesced all at once into a scarecrow shape, which turned its eyeless, faceless head to me and began to shamble in my direction.

"Ye're fightin' that," Drogan said calmly, just as the thing took a swipe that knocked me flat on my ass.

I goggled for the second time that day. "You caught me off guard!" I objected. "That's not fair!"

"And ye think that a battle-hungry orc's goin' to give ye fair warning before it attacks, is that it?" Drogan nodded his head at the scarecrow. "Ye might want to get up," he suggested blandly. "It's comin' back for another try at ye."

I grabbed Silent Partner and scrambled out of the way. The scarecrow's arm smacked into the dirt floor where I'd just been lying.

By the time I'd knocked down enough straw men to satisfy Drogan, I was trembling and drenched in sweat. I really was badly out of shape.

The dwarf rubbed his bearded chin. "Competent," he said at last. "For a beginner. At least ye know the basics. But ye're no fightin' prodigy, lass. Not even close."

I leaned on Silent Partner, gulping for breath. "What the hell was that all about?" I snapped. I felt a moment's flash of unease. He seemed like a nice guy, but really, what kind of a person sicced killer scarecrows on a person half an hour after meeting them? "Why do you care whether or not I can fight?"

"Because if ye can fight, maybe I can teach ye," the dwarf returned quellingly. He lifted his eyebrows and looked me up and down. "And if I can teach ye, maybe ye can find that portal o' yers."

My mouth must have hung open for close to five consecutive minutes before I rallied. Sort of. "Wh-what?" I stammered. "I don't understand-"

"No? Oh, 'tis very simple, lass," Drogan said, and his stern expression relaxed into a smile. "Ye see, I was once an adventurer. Do ye know what that is, lass?" At my headshake, he gestured for me to walk with him. "Come take a breath of fresh air, then, and I'll tell ye as we go," he suggested.

The light outside was dazzling after the stuffy dimness of the barn. I blinked, looking down over the hill. It was late afternoon, and the sun slanted, red-gold, over the low stone walls and craggy pastures of the dwarf's rambling old farm.

"There are many strange and perilous places in this world, as ye've already found," Drogan told me as we walked. "And there are those who choose to explore them – some for the riches, some for the glory, and some," he said, and smiled, "-just for the thrill of discovery." He paused beside a pasture wall and waved his cane at me. "Sit, sit, lass. Ye've not been well, and I think I've put you through yer paces enough for one day."

Drogan waited until I'd sat before making himself comfortable. "There," he sighed, settling somewhat painfully onto the wall. "That's much better. Now. Where was I? Ah, yes! Adventurers." He clasped his hands on his cane and looked out over the pasture, a small, contented smile on his face. "I was such a one, for many years. Ah, the sights I have seen, and the scraps I've been in," he reminisced wistfully. Then he shrugged. "But those days are behind me, now. Now, I've come to this place, here near the edge of the world, to perform my last – and, I hope, greatest – work."

I followed his gaze, watching a brown cow crop at the meadow grass. Confusion settled over me like a cloud. "Dairy farming?" I asked perplexedly.

The old dwarf looked at me sharply. Then he began to laugh. It was a bassy, merry laugh, the kind that made you want to laugh along, even if you had no idea what you were laughing at. "No, no," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Much as I enjoy tendin' a farm, that's only a hobby, and no more. But I do thank ye for the cheer. I always enjoy a good laugh." He patted me on the knee, still chuckling. "No, lass," he said then. "I aim to teach the next generation of adventurers."

I stared at him, wildly, hope leaping back to life in my brain. This world was dangerous, but Drogan had survived it despite apparently putting himself into all kinds of dangerous situations – and if adventurers explored lost and secret places, well, what was more secret than a portal back to my home world? "And…you think you can teach me?" I asked hoarsely.

He hesitated. "I don't know," he said at last, bluntly. "I'm sorry, lass, but I haven't the time nor the resources to teach all comers." He blew out a breath. "If ye had some kind of skill I could draw on, perhaps, but-"

My hopes hit a wall and splattered all over it. "But…I fought…I didn't do badly, did I? Can't you-" I stammered.

He was already shaking his head. "Oh, ye're not bad," he admitted. "But ye're not good, either, and ye show no signs of particular talent. I need somethin' more from ye, lass – something more than mere adequacy with a stout stick."

"But I can…" I combed my brain desperately. "I can…I can make salves and medicines from some plants," I tried. "Isn't that useful?"

The old dwarf frowned and raised his eyebrows. "Hmm. That's a start. What else?"

I drummed my fingers nervously on the stone, thinking. "I'm…I'm a good runner," I said hopefully. "I could run twenty, thirty miles at a time, before I got sick. I'm sure I could get back into shape pretty quickly."

Drogan snorted. "All right, so ye've got good stamina – but that doesn't serve unless ye plan to run yer enemies to death. Do ye? No. Then let's think o' something else." He drummed his fingers on his cane. "How are ye at magic?" At my blank stare, he sighed. "All right, nevermind that. Shootin'? Lootin'? Stealth? Woodcraft? No? Can ye talk to the beasts o' the wild, by any chance?"

"Um." I ran my fingers through my disheveled hair. "I used to talk to my cat a lot," I said lamely. "But, um, she never actually said anything back."

Drogan stared at me. "Yer cat," he repeated disbelievingly.

"Yes." I shuffled my feet awkwardly at the expression on his face. "Look, I know I can do this, I just-" A thought occurred to me, and I slung my rucksack from my shoulder.

Then I upended it on, right on the grass. Clothes and pouches and paper-wrapped rations spilled out.

They were followed by a shower of precious metals and sparkling gems.

Rose gold and yellow gold and platinum, rubies and emeralds and diamonds and sapphires and fat, glowing pearls; it was all I had left of the Blumenthal fortune. It was the only tangible reminder of home that I had left.

Hurriedly, I crouched down and searched through the pile. I fished out a pair of ruby-and-pearl earrings, set in gold and made to look like a cascade of little flowers – my mother's favorites, and something I wasn't giving up for _anything_ – and found, tangled around an old silver spoon, a gold necklace with a tiny diamond pendant in the shape of a musical note.

I'd meant to give that necklace to my mother, because she'd loved to play the piano. In my six-year-old mind, the little note on its chain had been perfect for her, despite the fact that it was just a cheap trinket in comparison to the rest of her collection.

I'd never had the chance to give mom her gift before she died, but I'd kept it anyway, out of some strange need to keep that last link to the mother I could barely even remember. Now, trapped in another world, I found that I still couldn't bear to let it go - not for anything. Not even for a way back.

I stood abruptly, crossing my arms over my chest and clutching my mementos in my fist. It hurt like hell to let the rest of it go, like I was letting a piece of _me_ go, but if this was the price I had to pay to go home, so be it. "I can pay," I said. I might not have been very good at anything else, but I knew how to buy things. "Look. That's worth probably a dozen fortunes right there. Won't it be enough?"

The dwarf stood stiffly, peering down at the glittering heap that lay in the meadow grass. He hooked the end of his cane through a pearl choker and held it up for inspection. "Very nice," he agreed gravely. Then he dropped the necklace. "But I've already made my fortune, lass. What would I need with another?"

My heart fell down to my toes. "But-" My protest was faint, and it sounded embarrassingly high-pitched and childish even to my own ears.

"But me no buts," the dwarf said. "My skills aren't up for sale, girl. I mean to use 'em where they'll do the greatest good for this world, not where they'll turn the biggest profit." Then he paused. His eyes narrowed, and he used his cane to push several pieces of jewelry aside. "What's this?" he asked suddenly.

"What's what?" I asked, and I watched as the dwarf stooped, with difficulty, to pick something out of the dirt. Suddenly feeling guilty, I moved to help the old dwarf up. I was angry and upset, but he was probably a dozen times my age, and I'd always been taught to respect my elders. Old habits were hard to break, even under duress.

Drogan just waved me off, though. He was frowning at something he held in his palm. "Where did ye get this?" he asked sharply.

I leaned over to look.

Then the blood drained out of my face. "Son of a bitch," I hissed. "I thought I'd thrown that over a cliff."

The amulet gleamed against Drogan's palm. On its face it bore a pointing hand, surrounded by stylized swirls of wind.

Drogan turned the pendant over in his hands. "Why didn't ye tell me that yer god had given ye his token?" the dwarf asked, his voice wondering.

I drew in a breath. My nostrils flared. "That bastard's not my god," I snapped.

"Ach. Is that the way of it, then?" Drogan asked mildly. Then he took my hand and pressed the amulet into it. His hands were bent with age and arthritis, but they were surprisingly strong. Their grip was like iron. "I'll take ye in on a trial basis," he said abruptly. "From now on, ye'll address me as Master Drogan, and ye'll do the tasks I set before ye without any bellyachin', as behooves a proper apprentice. Do I make myself understood?"

My mouth fell open. "Does…does this mean you're willing to try to teach me?" I whispered, stunned.

The dwarf grinned up at me. His blue eyes twinkled in a way that belied his years. They looked almost impish. "Aye," he said. "What can I say? I always did like a challenge." He stuck out his hand for me to take. "Welcome to Drogan's School for Young Adventurers," he intoned, and laughed merrily. "And may Mystra have mercy on our souls."

The first chance I got, I took the amulet and went looking for a nice, steep cliff.

I found it on the edge of the village. The cliff overlooked the Rauvin river. The waters foamed and swirled far, far below.

I held my hand out over the empty air. "Ciao," I said sweetly, and opened my hand.

The amulet fell like a comet.

I held my hand to my ear and listened for the distant splash. I smiled when I heard it.

I brushed off my hands and turned from the cliff's edge. "And stay there," I muttered.

I walked away.


	6. Chapter 6

_Breaking rocks out here on the chain gang_  
_Breaking rocks and serving my time_  
_Breaking rocks out here on the chain gang  
_ _Because they done convicted me of crime_

_Hold it steady right there while I hit it_  
_Well, I reckon that ought to get it_  
_Been working and working  
_ _But I still got so terribly far to go._

_\- Nina Simone, "The Work Song"  
_

* * *

The next few weeks gave me a good idea of what indentured servitude felt like.

After I'd said my farewalls to Nathan - who made me promise to visit the farm whenever I could, because, as he explained amidst a lot of harrumphing and not quite looking me in the eyes, the girls would surely miss me - Master Drogan showed me to my room. It was a nice corner room, floored in wide pine planks and made bright and airy by its two big, lacy-curtained windows.

Then Drogan gave me a tour of the house.

It was a decently-sized house, though not huge. The first floor had that big gathering room in the front, a kitchen to one side, and a cozy parlor (with yet more bookshelves) to the other. The back stairs led up to the second floor, where there were four small bedrooms, including mine, and a locked door to Master Drogan's quarters at the end of the hall.

There was a stair down to the basement, too. Master Drogan said that it was his laboratory, and forbade me entry. I was glad to oblige. After seeing what Teddy could do with a crate for a workbench and a bunch of empty beer bottles for flasks, I didn't want to see what a cunning old wizard like Master Drogan could do with a full lab at his disposal. Whatever it was, it would probably permanently disfigure me.

I got to know the rest of that house very well over the next day and a half, though.

This was because Master Drogan made me clean it. All of it.

"Is this supposed to be teaching me something?" I asked skeptically when he handed me a bucket and a mop.

"All of life's a lesson, lass," he said calmly. "Now, hop to it."

I'd never had to clean before. I'd always had maids for that.

Shortly after I embarked on my new job, I decided that I hated cleaning.

Not, however, as much as I hated mucking out the barn.

I'd never done that before, either. Oh, sure, my family had had the farm outside of the city, but we hadn't mucked the horses' stalls ourselves. We'd had people for that.

"When will I actually learn something?" I demanded of my would-be teacher when he came to check up on my progress. I was hot, sweaty, tired, and smelled – literally – like shit. I'd never wanted a shower so much in my entire life.

"All in good time," he said, as benign and tranquil as a little bearded Buddha. "All in good time."

It took a herculean effort not to hit him in the face with the shovel.

Once he'd gone, I stabbed the shovel into a pile of manure and sat on a hay bale. "This is _such_ bullshit," I muttered. I looked around. "In more ways than one," I added.

I heard a high-pitched giggle. "Hey lady!" a chirping voice called. "You look pooped!"

I craned my head back and squinted upwards. All I saw were shadows. "Who's there?" I asked.

A singsong voice drifted down to me. "I spy, with my little eye…" It paused, and then giggled again. "A pie!"

I lifted an eyebrow. "A pie?" I asked warily.

"A cow pie!" And then the whatever-it-was burst into another gale of tinkling laughter.

I rolled my eyes. "Okay," I said. "Why don't we ditch the scatological humor for a minute and you try telling me who the hell you are?"

"Tee-hee! Ask me if I am a tree!" the voice cooed.

"Huh?"

"Go ahead! Ask me if I am a tree!"

I had a sneaking suspicion that I was going to regret this. "Fine. Are you a tree?"

"No!"

I covered my face with my hands. "Forget I asked," I muttered.

Then I heard something that sounded like fluttering wings very close to my head, and I twisted to see what it was.

A little silvery-green dragon peered at me with eyes all colors of the rainbow. It was perched on the handle of my shovel. "Hi, cranky lady!" it chirped. "Would you like to play?

I stared at the thing. It really _did_ look like a dragon, except that it was no bigger than a cat, and it had wings like a butterfly's, patterned in green and silver and pink. A mane of silvery spikes began at its head and marched down its long neck to halfway down its tail, which was tipped with a plume of brightly-colored feathers. Whenever the creature moved its head, the spikes clinked together musically. "What in god's name are _you_?" I yelped.

"What am I?" the creature repeated. It giggled, its tiny jaws parting to show a set of sharp white fangs. "What a rude question the lady asks! Riisi is not a what! She is a who!" Its silvery talons bit into the shovel's wooden handle. "But Riisi does not bear a grudge. Here, she will help the rude lady with her work!"

And then the tiny creature picked up the shovel and flew away.

I jumped to my feet. "Hey!" I shouted. I ran after the retreating shovel, making a few half-hearted grabs for it. "How did you do that? It's ten times your size! Give it back!"

The shovel bobbed into the hayloft. I heard a clang. Then: "But Riisi is only helping the rude lady!" Something rustled. "Here, catch this!"

A shower of hay fell on my head. I ducked and tried to shield my head with my arms. "Hey!"

"Yes!" the creature shrieked. "Hay! Hee-hee!"

For the rest of the afternoon, I chased the shovel around the barn, dodging falling stacks of hay and the occasional clump of manure.

That evening I stalked into Master Drogan's house like the wrath of a really foul-smelling god.

The dwarf took one look at me, raised his hand to cover a smile, and suggested that I go upstairs and have a bath.

First, though, he pointed to the mop and a bucket that was mysteriously full of hot, soapy water, and directed me to clean the floor, since I'd tracked quite a mess in.

I didn't reply. I think the silent snarl on my face did all of my replying for me.

After a quiet dinner – which Drogan cooked, thankfully, though I was sure he'd deserve the consequences if he ever made the mistake of telling _me_ to cook – Drogan gave me the rest of the night off. I decided to go down to the tavern and see what they had to drink in this burg.

The tavern had a picture of a bubbling cauldron painted on the sign over the door. I'd gotten good at guessing the names of bars from visual cues, so it wasn't hard to figure this one out.

"Welcome to the Bubbling Cauldron," the bartender confirmed my hunch. He gave me an appraising glance. "What can I get for you?"

I swung onto a stool, planted my hands on the bar, and treated my host to what was undoubtedly a very grim stare. "Something strong," I said bluntly. "And when I say strong, I mean something that can peel wallpaper at fifty paces, strong. I mean drink-it-real-quick-before-the-glass-dissolves, strong. I mean that you've got to keep it in a special case so it doesn't get out and kill all of the customers, strong." I leaned forward. "What I'm saying is, if I've still got any sinuses left after the first sip, _it's not strong enough_."

The barman – a burly, middle-aged man with white-streaked blonde hair and a dyspeptic scowl - gave me a look of deep skepticism. He leaned back and called over to the only other woman in the tavern. "What do you say, Delia?" he asked blandly. "Shall I give her some of your special apple brandy?"

The woman turned. She was a big, ruddy-faced woman, the sturdy mountain type that could probably hold a cow up in one hand while she milked it with the other. "That twig?" she chortled. She eyed me measuringly. "Well, if 'tis a kill or cure remedy you're after, m'dear, you've come to the right place." She gestured at the barman. "Pour it out, m'good man," she said expansively. "Let's not dally. The child looks like she needs some color in her cheeks, anyway."

An old man, also at the bar counter, snickered. He looked so cadaverous and decrepit that I couldn't help but wonder when he'd been exhumed, and why anyone had bothered. It wasn't as if he was doing much aside from holding the bar stool down. "Waste of perfectly good brandy, that is," he muttered. "Why don't you pour it over here, lad? I'll make sure it's put to good use."

Lodar took a glass down from the shelf and set it in front of me. Then he produced an unlabeled bottle from beneath the counter. Amber liquid sloshed against its sides. "Errig, I'm forty-seven," he said mildly.

"Aye. So?"

"So you can stop calling me lad." The bartender dribbled a finger or so of brandy into my glass and raised an eyebrow at me. "Well, there you go," he said. "Don't say we didn't warn you, lass."

I inclined my head mockingly and saluted him with my glass. "Don't worry," I said. "Whatever happens, you can tell the paramedics that it was all my fault."

I drank.

I lowered the glass. Slowly, I felt my eyes begin to cross. I instinctively sucked in a breath to calm the burning that simultaneously slid down my throat and erupted behind my eyeballs. This was a bad idea, because I was still swallowing at the time.

I went into an extended fit of coughing. My lungs burned. My fist pounded against the bar. Tears ran down my cheeks.

A chorus of hoots rose up all around me. "'Tis like getting hit in the snout with an apple tree, aye?" Delia called. All I could do was nod.

Errig heaved a rattling sigh. "What a waste," he said mournfully.

"I did warn you," Lodar chided me. He reached for my glass. "Here, lass. Why don't I get you something else?"

I regained my senses enough to wave him away. "No," I wheezed. "I'm all right." I blinked my streaming eyes. "Holy shit," I said. "Now that's something. What's that stuff made out of?"

"Apples," Delia said smugly. She paused thoughtfully. "Well, mainly apples." She grinned. "Good stuff, ain't it?"

It _was_ good, actually. Once you got past the kick, it actually turned out to have a lot of structure and interesting complexity to it – as long, that is, as you liked apples.

Fortunately for me, I loved apples. I held out my glass. "Why don't you pour me another?" An evil thought occurred to me. I grinned. "Send the tab up to Master Drogan's," I added breezily. "He'll take care of it."

The rest of the night was a little blurry. I remember that Delia taught me a few songs. She had a good voice, though were some words in those songs that even I'd never heard of.

Then I played darts with some of the taverngoers. Most of them were male – crusty mountain types with hair coming out of their ears, for the most part - and a lot older than I was, but they warmed up to me after I'd lost enough rounds at darts.

Experience had taught me that it's always a mistake to be too good at those kinds of bar games. If you're too good, there's always someone who gets a bug up their ass about it and either takes your skill as a challenge or, even worse, a personal insult.

If, on the other hand, you're comically bad at it, you become the evening's entertainment, and the whole bar chips in to buy you drinks just so you can get even worse.

That was a good thing, because my aim put me solidly in the latter category.

Lodar eventually closed up shop, and Delia hauled me back home. She was as strong as Magda, and she laughed even more loudly, especially when we got to Drogan's and I couldn't seem to find the doorknob.

Eventually, I managed to locate the damned thing and tumble over the threshold. Then I crawled up the stairs and into bed.

I opened my eyes the next morning to see a scrap of parchment dangling in front of my face. There was something scribbled on it.

The parchment seemed to be attached to a hand. I blinked a few times, trying to bring it into focus. "Wazzat?" I slurred.

"Yer bar tab," Drogan's voice said. The scrap of paper vanished. "Up ye get, lass. Ye've got work to do."

Gingerly, I turned my head and squinted at the window. There was a little bit of light. Not much, though. "Nngh," I said, and tried to re-wrap myself in my blankets. "Too early."

The old dwarf said something I didn't understand, and suddenly my blankets were yanked out of my hands and off of my bed. They hit the far wall and slid down to the floor. "Up with ye, apprentice!" Drogan announced, way more loudly than he really needed to. "Ye've got a hefty tab to work off, ye know."

Something landed on the foot of my bed. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead!" it chirped. It began to sing. "Oooh, what a beautiful mooorniiing! Ooooh, what a beautiful daaaay! Come on, sing with Riisi!"

I clapped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut against the light. "What is this?" I groaned. "A really colorful form of hell?"

"No. It's a learnin' experience," Drogan replied calmly. Then he looked down at me critically, with pretty much the same expression he might use on encountering a spot of mud on his nice clean floor. "Ye might want to put some clothes on, first," he added blandly. His lips twitched. "Else ye might startle the cows."

When I wasn't cleaning, I seemed to be the dwarf's errand girl. I delivered anything from messages to meat and cheese to potions, and I often came back with whatever gifts the grateful locals had chosen to shower on the charitable old wizard.

It wasn't bad work. It made me feel like an intern again, but my status as Drogan's apprentice made me welcome just about anywhere in Hilltop. Never in my life had I met so many people who were so happy to see me.

I was on my way to deliver one such message when a white wolf trotted right into my path and let out a short, sharp 'whuff'.

I let out an equally short, sharp scream and jumped back several feet, ready to bolt.

I heard a soft chuckle. "Peace, girl," a voice said. "'Tis just Bethsheba. She means you no harm."

I looked around wildly. My eyes settled on a wiry, middle-aged man with longish dark hair and slightly startling yellow-green eyes. "You mean that thing is _tame?_ " I asked shrilly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Tame?" he asked. "No. _She_ is quite wild." He smiled more with his eyes than with his lips, which quirked upwards only slightly, and only at the corners. He seemed very careful not to show his teeth. "But I can vouch for her trustworthiness. As long as she senses no threat to me, she will treat you as gently as she would her own pups."

I looked at the wolf. It – or rather, she – blinked her ruby eyes at me. "Oh. Uh. Good doggie," I said weakly. The wolf's long red tongue lolled out in a canine grin, and her snowy tail thumped against the ground. It might just have been my imagination, but I could have sworn that she was laughing at me.

Then I looked back at the man. He was carrying a bundle of plants. I thought I recognized the shape of those leaves. "Having trouble sleeping?" I asked.

The man glanced down at the flowers. "Not personally," he said. He had a very calm voice, quiet and smooth. It was the kind of voice that made you want to lie down on a couch and tell him all about your childhood. "But yes. Some of my customers do. I like to keep a good stock on hand." He cocked his head at me. "Are you familiar with the use of medicinal herbs?" he asked curiously.

I shrugged. "Sort of," I said. "A friend taught me how to recognize them, although I, uh…don't know what those plants are called." I pointed. "I just know what they do. You use the roots, right?"

The man smiled in that tight-lipped way of his and raised the bundle. "'Tis called 'valerian'," he said. "And yes. That is correct." He paused. Then he inclined his head towards a nearby hut and beckoned to me. "Come," he said. "I will show you some others. Perhaps I can give names to anything else you recognize."

And so began my association with Farghan.

That afternoon, the herbalist gave me names for some of the plants which Harry had already taught me the use of, and introduced me to a few others he had around his shop.

A few days later, he offered to let me accompany him on one of his periodic herb-collecting expeditions around the valley, so that he could teach me about the local flora. The climate was different here in the mountains than it had been in the forest where Harry and I had wandered, and there were lots of plants growing in the vicinity that I didn't know anything about.

Funnily enough, when I broached the subject of our expedition to Master Drogan, he didn't object to losing his muck-raker and errand girl for a few hours. He just smiled and told me to have a good time.

The pine forests were deep and cool, and the meadows spilled, sun-bright, down to the crystal blue sweep of the Rauvin river. The air had the crispness and clarity of fall, and rang with the gentle clank of cowbells.

After a time or two, I even got used to having Bethsheba around on those trips – although the wolf seemed to delight in popping out of the meadow grass right when I least expected it. I think she did it just to see how far she could make me jump.

In some ways, though, the peace and isolation of the mountains only made me more homesick, not less. I wanted noise. I wanted excitement. I wanted strange food and loud music and _people_ , people all around me so I could get lost in the living, breathing chaos of a city.

Instead, I was stuck in this sleepy little town, feeling twitchy and restless and gnawed by the niggling worry that I'd end up getting stuck here forever. The prospect of growing old and dying in such a dull place, without so much as a change of scenery, pissed me off even more than the fact that the place was in the wrong world.

"Aren't there any real cities around here?" I lamented to Master Drogan one night over dinner. I pushed some buttered beets around on my plate. "I mean, where do you go to get your ingredients? And books?" I groped. "And…I don't know. What about that port we had the other night? I _know_ you didn't get that from Lodar-"

Drogan chuckled. "Ye would know that," he said drily. "Ye've already convinced him to give ye a guided tour of his cellar."

I shrugged. "He just wanted to show off," I said dismissively. "He'd do that for anyone who asked."

"Lodar? He's never done it before, that I'm aware. Then again, he's never had a customer who's so willin' to talk spirits with him until all hours of the evenin'. The two of ye are frightenin', the way ye go on." Drogan stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I do have a few errands to run in Silverymoon," he mused then. "It may not be a city such as ye're accustomed to, from what ye've told me, but I promise it's worth seein'." He smiled at me, his eyes dancing. "What do ye say, lass?" he asked. "Would ye like to come with me?"

I couldn't agree quickly enough.


	7. Chapter 7

_Streets like the rest of them, but I can't forget  
_ _Faces familiar and full of regret  
_ _I hated this place  
_ _And all who came from it_

_Far from the scenery, far from the road  
_ _Far from the greenery, lifted my load  
_ _We boarded the train to come back again  
_ _I was convinced in my mind  
_ _I was not of this kind  
_ _  
Faced with banality  
_ _I chose calamity_

_\- The Delgados, "The City Consumes Us"  
_

* * *

It didn't take me long to regret my decision to accompany Drogan to Silverymoon.

It wasn't that the city wasn't beautiful. Actually, it was breathtaking, a fairytale of wide, cobbled streets and airy, elegant architecture.

The palace was huge and white and elaborate, a wedding cake inhabited by bustling ants. The houses ranged from stately marble mansions to steep-roofed, narrow-windowed rowhomes. Many of the houses had balconies, and between them, crooked alleyways led into mysterious gardens and secluded courtyards that I kept trying to sidle into until Drogan threatened to put me on a leash.

Then there were the temples. I didn't know whether funding for the temples came from the city or from the individual churches, but whatever the source, the number had to have had a lot of zeroes on the end. The end result of all of that cash and sweat was stunning. Drogan lectured me along the way, telling me about the gods to whom the temples were dedicated and why they were built the way they were. I listened, reluctantly fascinated, because although it made me twitchy to be around that much organized religion, there was always something about religious faith that got people to create some really beautiful things.

There was a gilded sun above the doors to the temple of Lathander, and the nave was clad in rosy, gold-veined marble. The temple of Selune was white marble, and the dome was painted the deep blue of the night sky, with a softly glowing sphere suspended at its peak, shining just like the moon.

The priests of Silvanus walked among the branches of a tree so huge and old that it looked as if that section of the city had been built around its trunk, its steep, cobbled hills and railed walkways overlooking the tree's mossy roots. Mielikki had no building, but she had a grove of silvery birches with a plain stone altar at its center, and it was so tranquil that you might almost forget that you were in the middle of the city. It reminded me a little of Central Park, and I lingered there until Drogan announced that he'd miss his appointments if we didn't stop lollygagging around.

And then there were the people.

Wizards strolled the streets, as colorful as peacocks in their elaborate robes. A column of mounted knights trotted down a wide boulevard, their armor gleaming in the sun and their pennants snapping in the wind. Dusty travelers mingled with the populace, and Master Drogan took care to point out adventurers when he saw them. An auburn-haired woman in dark green leather and a cloak that looked like a mantle of leaves gestured with her spear as she argued with mail-clad dwarf. An elf with blue-tinted skin and silver hair serenaded passersby with a very unwarlike flute, but he was dressed in a shirt of light, glittering chain, and he moved as if the rapier at his hip was as much a part of his body as his arms or his legs.

Vendors vended, hawkers hawked, and town criers screamed incomprehensible announcements from the street corners. Bustle and commerce and chatter and impromptu speeches and shouted arguments flowed all around us.

The din was glorious.

Master Drogan and I stopped for lunch at a stall whose owner sliced the smoky, heavily spiced meat from a leg of mutton that she'd had turning on a spit since that morning, and rolled the meat in a soft, chewy flatbread for us to eat as we walked. After lunch, we split a bag of cloudberry candies, and I felt almost content. Almost.

I saw humans of every color and stripe, but I also saw half-elves who were almost as varied, and dwarves that ranged from sallow-skinned and dark-haired to as golden as Toli – though I didn't find any duergar. I looked for them, but Nathan's race seemed scarce in these parts. I could relate. I knew how it was to be an outsider in a strange place, far away from your home.

I saw plenty of elves, too, and felt an uncomfortable twitch of envy at their otherworldly, feline grace. There were gnomes, too, like Teddy, all of them with impressive noses (and all of whom talked about as much as he did, if not more), and then there were the almost childlike halflings, though Drogan warned me not to let appearances deceive me – the halflings weren't actually children, but they had about the same grasp on the finer points of property ownership.

It was so fantastical that I was hard-pressed to keep my head from twisting around on my neck like an owl's, trying to take it all in. I did, though. I didn't want to look like some hillbilly tourist, after all, and so I strolled at Drogan's side and did my best to act casual.

Besides, Silverymoon wasn't a real city. Real cities were jungles of concrete and steel and glass. Real cities were a symphony of horns and screaming cars and millions of souls all jostling together into one big, beautiful cacophony. Real cities lit up the night from one horizon to another.

 _On the other hand,_ I mused as I watched a wizard shepherding a troop of animated mops down the sidewalk. _Real cities aren't usually this clean._

No, the city wasn't the problem.

The problem was that Master Drogan was apparently a little confused about the role of an apprentice.

I thought I was there to learn.

 _He_ thought I was a pack mule.

Maybe it was an honest misunderstanding, but he didn't give me much of a chance to correct it.

During the afternoon we schlepped around the city, going from shop to shop. Drogan sat and chatted with the shopkeepers as if they were old friends. He pored over a few offerings. Eventually, there was an exchange, something was wrapped, and then it was handed to me. And then I carried it. _Through the entire fucking town.  
_  
 _Elderly and infirm, my ass,_ I thought darkly, my back bent under my heavy load. _The damn dwarf just likes making other people work._

At least there was a real mule with us, a bowlegged old fellow who'd probably have been happier if we'd left him cropping wildflowers on Master Drogan's farm. When we finally got to the stables at the city gates late that afternoon, I loaded his packs with Drogan's purchases and cinched them tight.

The mule looked over his shoulder to give me a mute, long-suffering stare. "Yeah," I said sympathetically. "You and me both, brother." I stroked his neck. "Why don't _you_ talk to him about it? He won't listen to me."

The mule snorted and shook his ears. His harness jangled.

I smiled and lifted the mule's reins off of their peg. Then I led him out of the stable, where I helped Master Drogan clamber up into the saddle.

We were heading down the road that led from the city when I saw a bundle of rags by the side of the road.

I looked back as we passed. It wasn't moving. I thought I saw the sketched-out shape of hunched shoulders, and a suggestion of a bowed head.

The memory of Longsaddle surfaced so suddenly that it nearly stopped me in my tracks.

It had been the first village I'd ever visited in this world. Harry had been with me. It had been a pleasant day of shopping – up until Harry had stopped to help another miserable wreck of humanity like this one.

Harry had been like that. He would always stop for anyone who needed him. He'd done it for me. He'd have done it for anyone. It was just how he was.

I'd felt so ashamed of myself, knowing that I wouldn't have done the same had our positions been switched. I wouldn't even have paused.

My steps slowed.

Master Drogan looked back at me. "What is it, lass?" he called.

I looked over my shoulder again.

Harry would have stopped.

But Harry had died, and all the world had now was me and my memories of a man who had been a far better person than I could ever be.

No one else was stopping. Maybe they hadn't seen the pathetic thing by the roadside. Maybe they had, and they just didn't want to see it, so they erased it from their minds and walked on, like I usually did.

I wondered what my lost friend would think of me if I walked on now. I wondered if he was up in heaven or wherever an Ilmatari was supposed to go after he died, getting ready to bop me over the head with a ghostly fist. I smiled sadly at that thought. I'd have let him hit me as many times as he wanted, if it brought him back – but that wasn't happening, was it?

Harry was gone. It was just me, now.

Without quite knowing what I was doing, I turned around and retraced my steps.

I knelt, propping Silent Partner against my shoulder. "Uh. Excuse me?" I asked tentatively. "Are you all right?"

The rags groaned and shifted. The stink of unwashed flesh was unbearable. I gagged, and recoiled automatically.

Then a hand lashed out and grabbed my wrist, holding me there. Its grip was feverishly strong. "Temple," it gasped. It sounded like a man, but its voice was so ravaged by illness that I couldn't be sure. "Need…a temple…"

I looked at the hand. It was flushed and sweaty. The man's breath bubbled and rasped in his lungs.

I tried to pull away. The person's grip didn't relent. "Listen," I said. "There are some temples in the city. They're not far. Maybe I could help you get there-"

The person shuddered violently. A deep, retching cough racked it. "Temple," it groaned. "Cannot breathe. Hurts."

 _Snow. White. Crushing. Can't breathe. Trapped. Can't move._ I gave a shudder of my own. "It's okay," I said faintly, and I wasn't sure whom I was trying to comfort. "It's okay. You'll be fine."

There was no answer.

I heard the clop of hooves. "What's happened?" I heard Drogan ask.

"I…I don't know," I answered. The hand slid free of my wrist. That wasn't much of a comfort, since it seemed that it had only happened because the owner of the hand had lost consciousness. "He's sick. He wanted to go to a temple." I looked up at the dwarf, gnawing on my lower lip. Harry, and then Farghan, had shown me a couple of remedies that might bring a fever down, but they'd only work if the patient was conscious enough to drink them, and in any case I hadn't thought to bring anything like that with me. "What if we loaded him onto the mule?" I asked. "Could we get him to a doctor somewhere in the city?"

Master Drogan seemed about to reply, his blue eyes soft with pity.

Then a change came over his expression. It went carefully neutral. He rubbed his beard. "Maybe it's best if we bring the healer to him," he said slowly. "Aye. Best not to move him, I wager." He patted my shoulder. "I'll go fetch someone," he reassured me. "You just stay and watch over this poor soul, why don't ye?"

I blinked. "Me?" I squeaked. "But-"

"'Tis either yerself or no one at all, lass," the dwarf said. He clucked at his mule and urged it on. "Never fear. I shall return as soon as I can."

Then he left me there, alone with a dying man.

I shifted my weight on my heels and looked down at the pathetic huddle. His breathing was getting more and more rattly.

I looked around. What people there were on the road were passing us by as if we were invisible.

Helplessly, I reached out a hand and touched the man's arm. "Hey," I said tentatively. "Hey. Don't do that." I felt panicky. "Don't die. I'm here." I didn't want to just sit here and watch another person die. I'd had enough of _that_ to last me a lifetime. "Please," I said. "Please, don't die. Just…hang on. Drogan'll help you."

The man didn't respond. I lowered my head, blinking away a sudden flood of tears.

The wind shifted. It stirred my hair and dried the tears on my cheeks.

I breathed in. That tingle beneath my breastbone, that ever-present reminder of Shaundakul's touch, sprang to sudden life.

It spread outwards, filling me with a strange energy. My skin began to tingle, too.

I laid my hand on the dying man's shoulder. "Please," I said again, and the tingle spread all through my veins.

It passed through me and into him. My senses expanded.

I lost sight of the world in front of me. The noise of the road faded.

I felt a diseased heat, radiating from the man's body like an aura. I saw the points of disease in his flesh, festering sinks of blackness that made my skin crawl. They were concentrated in his lungs. That was the center of the infection.

Dreamily, I looked on the marks of disease. I breathed out.

A cool rush of power drained from its home beneath my heart and whispered out through my hand.

It spread out from the point of contact. I gave it an almost absent-minded mental push, encouraging it to move from point to point, all the way to the heart of the sickness.

Cool, pale blue subsumed the sickly splotches. I watched as they faded away, and the fluid drained from the man's lungs, getting reabsorbed by his body.

I watched as the man's lungs expanded and filled with breath.

Then my vision wavered.

I blinked, once, and came back to myself.

The exhaustion hit me like a sledgehammer.

I sprawled backwards, my head spinning. My backside hit the dirt.

Someone caught me before I fell over completely. "Ye all right, lass?" Master Drogan's rough brogue sounded concerned.

I lifted a hand to my forehead, dazed. "Hnh?" I said. I tried to sit up. "What the fuck was that?"

Then I stopped.

The dying man was sitting up. He looked down at himself, awestruck.

Then he looked at me.

He'd taken my hand in both of his before I could even think to stop him. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "Thank you, healer. Thank you." He took a quavering breath. His eyes were glassy with tears. "Tell me what god you follow," he pleaded then. "Tell me, so that I may thank him as well."

I stared at him, open-mouthed. "Uh." Shocked and dazed, I said the first thing that came to mind. "S-shaundakul?" My forehead furrowed in a confused frown. "I guess," I added dubiously.

Then I fainted.


	8. Chapter 8

_I always feel like_  
_Somebody's watching me_  
_And I have no privacy  
_ _Whooa, oh-oh_

_I always feel like_  
_Somebody's watching me  
_ _Who's playin' tricks on me_

_\- Rockwell, "Somebody's Watching Me"_

* * *

 

As soon as we were back in Hilltop and Master Drogan's mule was unloaded, I staggered down to the tavern.

"Whiskey," was all I said to Lodar. I slid onto a barstool and let my head drop onto my folded arms.

Glasses clinked. "What's wrong, lass?"

I shook my head mutely, not even bothering to lift it. "Whiskey," I repeated, my voice muffled by my forearms.

I heard Lodar sigh. More glasses clinked. "You have done a fine job these past tendays, you know. This bottle is just about empty," he remarked. He raised his voice. "Aurys, lad!" he called to his son. "Fetch me another bottle of whiskey from the cellar! The ten-year Luskan!" Lodar paused. I felt his eyes on me. "On second thought, make that twenty!"

I heard Aurys go down into the cellar, his footsteps almost masked by the creak of the door on its old, tortured hinges.

Another door creaked. The smell of baking pies wafted across the tavern. "Lodar, dear," a feminine voice called sweetly. "When you're done there, can you help me lift this barrel?"

The clinking stopped. "Y-yes. Of course, Mara," the bartender said, his voice taking on an odd, strangled note. It was as if he couldn't decide whether to be curt or courteous, and he ended up dangling in some strange place halfway between the two. "I will be right there."

"Truly? Oh, you are the dearest man alive." Mara's voice was warm, and just a little teasing. "I will be waiting, then."

The door closed. I lifted my head slightly, looking upward.

Lodar's face was red. In spite of my mood, I smiled. "You don't _have_ to discourage her, you know," I suggested mildly.

He blinked. His face turned redder. "I do not know what you mean," he said quellingly. He turned and set a glass down on the shelf behind the bar with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "Besides – I have Aurys to think about."

"I'm sure he won't mind," I said calmly. I folded my arms more comfortably on the bar and rested my chin on them, watching the way Lodar's shoulders were trying to bunch around his ears. He was a nice-looking man – blonde hair, craggily handsome face, clear blue eyes. Sure, he was going on middle age, and he had the kind of build that had once been burly and muscular but was starting to head south towards his gut with age, but he still wasn't bad to look at. Nice, too, in a rough-around-the-edges kind of way. I could understand what Mara saw in him. "How long has it been?" I asked quietly.

His motions stopped. "Twelve years," he said eventually.

"Hmm." I rested my cheek on my forearm, thoughtful. "How old is Aurys?"

"Fifteen."

I nodded against my arm. "I was six when my mother died," I remarked wistfully. "I'd have been happy for my dad if he'd found someone like Mara, after mom was gone." Granted, he'd found someone like Lois, instead – the witchiest witch who ever did witch. But Lodar didn't need to know that. "I wouldn't have wanted him to be lonely for the rest of his life. Not for my sake."

Lodar paused. He looked over his shoulder. "What…how did your mother…" he started to ask.

I wondered if anyone in this world knew what _leukemia_ meant. "Cancer," I said finally, and hoped that was explanation enough.

Lodar blinked. "Oh," he said. "I'm sorry, lass..."

I shrugged, avoiding Lodar's eyes. "I was six," I said quietly. Tears prickled my eyes at the thought of my father, who was now in a far lonelier place than he had been after we lost mom. I blinked the tears away. "Why don't you just relax and talk to her, see how things go?" I suggested, switching the subject to something a little safer. I smiled. "You know she'll be all for it. She's practically sending up signal flares."

Lodar became studiously absorbed in drying off an already squeaking glass. "Perhaps. But you ought to mind your own business, lass," he said gruffly.

"Hey, what makes my bartender happy _is_ my business, right?"

The bartender in question snorted a laugh. "Does your Master let you get away with sassing him like this?' he asked drily.

"Nope. That's why I have to save it all up for you."

His barrel chest shook with silent laughter. "Sass," he said again, shaking his head.

"You'd better believe it."

Aurys's footsteps stomped back up the stairs. "Da?" he asked, his voice confused. "Was this here when we put that bottle down?"

A bottle plonked down onto the bar, right outside of my peripheral vision. "Well, this is strange, and make no mistake," Lodar said. He looked surprised. "Where did _that_ come from?"

Confused, I turned my head. My eyes fell on the bottle.

Then I felt the blood drain from my face.

There was an amulet hanging around the neck of the whiskey bottle. It was made of a dark grey metal, and it had a pointing hand on the front, with pale swirls of wind all around it.

The holy symbol dangled quietly from the dusty bottle. It looked awfully smug, for an inanimate object.

I gritted my teeth. "Son of a _bitch_ ," I seethed.

I climbed back up the hill to Master Drogan's house.

I marched up the stairs to my room, slamming the door behind me.

Then I opened the trunk at the foot of my bed, shoved my clothes aside, and threw the holy symbol to the very bottom of the trunk.

Then I piled my clothes on top of it and shut the trunk firmly. "There," I said darkly. "Maybe now you'll be happy and just stay out of my hair."

I hadn't drunk any of the whiskey. I was pretty sure the shock of having that damned thing turn up again had put me off whiskey for life.

I heard a knock on the door. "Yeah?" I called.

"'Tis me," Drogan's voice replied.

"Thank _you_ , Captain Obvious," I muttered. I wrenched the door open. "I know, I know," I said glumly. "The barn. I'll be right down."

"Aye? Excellent, then. I was just about to say that I'd meet ye there," the old dwarf said. He nodded past me. "Bring that staff o' yers with ye," he added.

I watched him go, confused.

Then I gritted my teeth, grabbed Silent Partner, and headed for the barn. Orders were orders, and if I wanted to have a chance at getting out of here, I was just going to have to put up with them – even if they did make me want to scream and hit something. But, hey, I'd swallowed my pride and done things I didn't like before, hadn't I? My entire career had been one long struggle against telling my boss where to shove his orders. If I could do that, I could do this, too.

When I arrived at the barn, Drogan was waiting patiently, his hands folded on the knob of his cane.

I looked around. There was a conspicuous lack of manure. "What's going on?" I asked suspiciously.

The dwarf gestured at me to stand in the middle of the barn. "Yer stance isn't too bad, but as soon as ye start movin', yer footwork turns into a disaster," he said critically, looking me up and down. "We'll work on that first of all."

I blinked at him stupidly. "What are you talking about?" I asked.

He gave me an amused look. "Ye did want to learn how to fight, didn't ye?"

I stared at him for a long while. The comprehension trickled into my brain slowly, like melting ice.

Then it hit me all at once.

Slowly, I pulled a length of cloth out of my hip pocket and tied my hair back.

Then I planted my feet, shifted my grip on Silent Partner, and grinned tightly. "Tell me more about my footwork," I said.


	9. Chapter 9

_White are the far-off plains,_  
_And white the fading forests grow;_  
_The wind dies out amongst the tides_  
_And denser still the snow,_  
_A gathering weight on roof and tree_  
_Falls down scarce audibly._

 _The meadows and far-sheeted streams_  
_Lie still without a sound;_  
_Like some soft minister of dreams_  
_The snowfall hoods me around;_  
_In wood and water, earth and air,_  
_A silence is everywhere._

 _Save when at lonely spells_  
_Some farmer's sleigh is urged on,_  
_With rustling runner and sharp bells,_  
_Swings by me and is gone;_  
_Or from the empty waste I hear_  
_A sound remote and clear;_

 _The barking of a dog,_  
_To cattle, is sharply pued,_  
_Borne, echoing from some wayside stall_  
_Or barnyard far afield;_  
_Then all is silent and the snow_  
_Falls settling soft and slow_

_\- Loreena McKennitt, "Snow"  
_

* * *

The first time Master Drogan tried to put armor on me, I collapsed.

He looked down at me, frowning. "Perhaps full plate is a mite too heavy for ye," he observed. "Sorry about that, lass. I've always been poor at judgin' the strength of you human women."

"No problem," I wheezed. The breastplate seemed to be grinding my ribs to powder. "Now could you get this thing off of me?"

The dwarf murmured an incantation and gestured with his free hand. The buckles of the armor unlatched, and the plates began to float gently into the air.

I rolled over onto my back, breathing deeply now that I was free of all of that metal. "Have you got any more brilliant ideas?" I asked sarcastically.

The dwarf adjusted his spectacles. "As a matter of fact," he said mildly. "Aye. I do."

The solution he came up with was a snug-fitting leather jacket and pants, over which he strapped a stiff leather vest with small steel discs affixed to it. The vest had no sleeves, though it did have shoulder guards, which were as metal-clad as the rest of the thing. The discs overlapped one another, making me look like I was half-covered in fish scales.

"How does it feel?" Drogan asked me.

I paced around the room, trying to get the armor to settle in place. It creaked and jingled in time with my footsteps. "Strange," I said at last. "But I don't think it's too heavy."

"Good," the dwarf said happily. He picked up his cane. "Come with me, then," he instructed.

I stared at his retreating back. I'd come to dread those four little words.

Then I sighed, pulled my boots back on, and followed.

Master Drogan led me out of the city, to a small mountain lake in the valley below. For some reason, he was carrying a folding chair under one arm.

It wasn't a long hike, but I was already sweating under the unaccustomed weight of the armor by the time we got to where we were going.

When we got to the lake, Drogan set up his folding chair. Then he sat on it, making himself comfortable. "All right, lass," he said. "Try and give me fifteen laps around that lake."

I looked at the lake. It was big. Really big. Like, several acres big.

I looked at Drogan. He had shaken out a lap blanket and was busy draping it over his knees. "Are you kidding me?" I asked.

"I never kid," he said calmly. He leaned his cane against his chair and picked up a book. "I'll keep count," he told me. Then he adjusted his spectacles, raised his book, and seemingly forgot all about my existence.

I stared at him. "Well, that's awfully helpful of you," I said snidely. He didn't reply.

After a while, I gave up and started running.

I finished the first lap. "That's one," Drogan said as I passed him. He didn't even look up.

Running in armor, I found out, was _hard_. It was especially hard when you were out of condition in the first place.

I pounded past Master Drogan, breathing hard. "That's two," he said.

There was a stitch in my side. I force myself to stay upright and keep going. "Three," Master Drogan said. He licked his finger and turned a page.

By the sixth lap, I was pretty sure I was about to throw up.

By the seventh, I was pretty sure I was about to die.

I staggered to a stop and bent with my hands on my knees. "I'm done," I announced, gulping for breath. My quivering legs gave out on me. I dropped to the grass.

Then a spark of electricity earthed itself in the grass near my feet. I shrieked and scrambled backwards.

My teacher put his cane down and picked his book back up. "Ye've got eight more to go, lass," he said calmly. "Hop to it."

I gave him a glare that should have melted him on the spot, but the goddamned dwarf just kept reading his book.

Anger rose up in me. That strange tingle in my chest uncoiled.

And then, all at once, I felt a weird jolt run through my limbs.

It was like getting a second wind. My breath smoothed out. My body flooded with renewed vigor. I felt like I could run another dozen laps without stopping - though that was probably just the adrenaline talking.

I stood up, still glaring at the old wizard as if my stare could burn holes right through him.

He looked up. His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Nice little trick ye have there," he observed. "Where did ye learn to do that?"

I refused to so much as dignify that with a response – especially because I wasn't really sure _what_ had just happened.

Then I shook the confusion off, and ran on.

Our days soon settled into a routine.

First came my morning run around the lake – always in armor. I grew to like the way it jingled with every step, and as I wore it more, the leather creaked less.

Once winter had come in earnest, I ran in the snow, my breath forming puffs of vapor in the cold air. _That_ was no fun, but I couldn't stop. It was like an addiction. Every time I added another lap to my record, or finished the laps a little faster, I just had to get the next lap under my belt, or get home a little earlier so I could flaunt my progress to Master Drogan and he could tell me how well I'd done and smile his warm, Santa Claus smile at me.

Sometimes I went alone to the lake. Sometimes Drogan came with me. Other times, he sent Riisi along to keep me company.

Riisi was Drogan's familiar, as it turned out. He called her a faerie dragon. I called her a pain in the ass. As far as I could tell, the two things were one and the same.

I was starting to wonder why in the hell any wizard would want a familiar. Teddy's raven had been a menace, but at least he had been an _honest_ menace.

Riisi, on the other hand, was just plain nuts.

The first time we went to the lake together, the dragon stole the tie from my hair on the fifth lap. "Hey!" I shouted, and ran after her as she darted away, giggling. "Give that back!"

"Why?" Riisi questioned innocently. She performed an aerial roll and then came to a standing hover in front of my face, grinning toothily. "Master Drogan said that Riisi must provide…" Her reptilian face crinkled in thought. "…must provide proper mot-iv-ation and en-courage-ment for the lady!" She held up the hair tie, clutched in her tiny silver talons. "This is mot-iv-ation!" she announced. "Catch Riisi if you can!" Then she dashed off, her wings whirring like a hummingbird's.

I stared after her. Then I swore and broke into a run.

I caught up with her on the twentieth lap. By that time, my entire body felt like rubber.

I'm not sure how I got back home after that. I think I crawled all of the way back.

After my run came a light breakfast, usually oatmeal or something just as nutritious and completely inedible.

I ate it all. If it hadn't been there, I probably would have eaten the table. It was a good thing I didn't, though. Knowing Master Drogan, he'd probably have made me cut him a new table – from the tree. With my _teeth_. I'm sure he was a very nice guy among friends, but as a teacher, he had a sadistic streak as wide as a boulevard.

After breakfast, I picked up Silent Partner and headed down to the barn.

Drogan started me off on those animated scarecrows of his.

First I fought small ones, and then bigger and bigger ones, until I was banging Harry's quarterstaff against the ankles of strawmen the size of giants. _Hill giants,_ I thought, remembering Mongo. _That's what they are here. That's what they call them._

I fought the variously-sized strawmen one at a time, and then two. Then it became a free-for-all. The barn began to look like the inside of a grain thresher.

When the scarecrows started getting a little too easy for me, Master Drogan surprised me one day with my very own orc.

I walked into the barn that morning, screamed, and walked right back out again.

Master Drogan had to take me by the hand and drag me back inside. "'Tis only an illusion, lass," he said soothingly. "Ye see?" He stuck his hand through the back of the orc's skull and wiggled his fingers at me from somewhere around the orc's nostrils. "It cannot really harm ye."

I took a hesitant step closer, telling myself that it was no different than a hologram, really, and if I could accept that concept, then I could accept this one. I studied the green-skinned, yellow-tusked humanoid. "He's an ugly sucker, isn't he?" I remarked.

"That he is," Master Drogan agreed. "And a fair warrior, as well, even on his own. Now, watch closely-"

That was when I discovered that Drogan had the trick of making illusions substantial – substantial enough, at least, to hit me.

The orc jerked to life. Its axe arced down towards me.

Reflexively, I brought my lower hand up and swung Silent Partner into a horizontal guard, my grip wide, my wrists straight, and my legs braced.

The axe hit Silent Partner's haft, right between my hands. I felt the impact travel from my hands to my wrists and to my shoulders and back, and from there, all the way down my legs.

It hurt like a bitch. I staggered two steps back, my legs nearly buckling – but, to my everlasting surprise, I didn't lose my balance. "I thought you said these things couldn't hurt me!" I shouted indignantly.

"They will not. If his weapon hits anything but yer staff there, it'll go right through."

This was piss-poor reassurance when I had a very real-looking axe swinging towards my head.

Not wanting to risk it, I ducked under the swing, spitting a curse, and snapped Silent Partner's butt into the orc's shin.

 _Oops._ I'd actually been going for his kneecap. _But hey, I'll take it,_ I thought as the illusion howled and reeled away from me. It wasn't _quite_ what I'd intended, but it had given me an opening.

I pushed forward through my rear foot and surged into a lunge, shifting my grip on Silent Partner so that its mithril-capped upper end was pointing at the orc.

The lunge carried me into a jab at the orc's stomach. It 'woof'ed as breath left its imaginary lungs. It doubled forward.

His head was low now, within easy reach. I went for it.

Silent Partner cracked sharply across the back of the orc's skull. The orc went down.

I lowered my quarterstaff, panting. "Damn," I said, grinning tightly. "That was hard."

Master Drogan chuckled. "Aye," he said. "Now try to imagine fightin' a pack of those, twenty strong." He caught my look. "Orcs never fight without an overwhelmin' advantage in numbers," he explained.

The glow of victory faded. "Oh," I said. I looked at the orc, who vanished at a word from my teacher. "So how the hell do you deal with twenty of those things at once?"

The dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow at me. "Fireballs are a great help," he said, and his eyes glinted slyly behind his glasses. "Failin' that, 'tis always good to have a god backin' you up."

I scowled at him. "What's next?" I asked curtly, ignoring his implications.

What was next, as it turned out, was everything that he could throw at me.

Master Drogan's illusions brought to life elaborate scenarios in that humble barn. Anything from bandit ambushes to a face-off with an angry ogre took place in there.

Over the next months I learned, one by one, not only the look and the names of all sorts of monsters, but also what to expect if I got into a fight with them.

Orcs liked superior numbers. Kobolds liked ambushes. Hill giants fought alone, because they had this little habit of trying to kill any other hill giants that came into their territory. That didn't reassure me, since even one hill giant was capable of uprooting trees to hit me with, or of dropping boulders on my head before I could even get close to him.

Eventually, I began to turn up for practice only to find Drogan absent and the barn arranged in a familiar scenario – a grassy meadow where an ankheg had risen out of the ground a few weeks earlier, or a forest where bandits had hidden behind the trees and peppered me with arrows.

These were Drogan's version of pop quizzes - and they would have been a lot easier if he didn't keep changing things.

I would step into a forest just like the one below Hilltop and think _hey I recognize that boulder there was a bandit hiding behind it with a crossbow two days ago_ only to discover that there was no bandit behind the boulder this time, but there _was_ a gnoll behind a tree, and he had a big fuck-off halberd just waiting to chop me in half.

Other times, the enemies would stay the same but their numbers and positions would change. I couldn't rely on what had come before, because there was no guarantee that there wouldn't be some little twist thrown in just to confuse me.

Each scenario was subtly different, and each time, through trial and error and occasionally getting shot, stabbed, or bludgeoned with an array of illusionary weaponry, I began to see patterns in the seeming chaos of each encounter.

What infuriated me, though, was that each time I solved the puzzle put in front of me, Master Drogan would only step into the barn, nod, and end the illusion without saying a word. He seemed to be waiting for something to happen – but what that was, I could never figure out.

After sparring practice came a lunch of flaky biscuits and steaks, or of lamb chops from Drogan's herd of sheep, or bacon and eggs from Drogan's hens and cheese from his milk cows.

I wolfed down most everything else, but I didn't eat the cheese. After seeing the curd form into rounds and stack itself onto shelves of its own accord, I wasn't going to let any of that cheese into my stomach. Who knew what it might do to me?

I spent most of my afternoons surrounded by towers of books and sheaves of parchment, learning about the geography and history of this insane world I'd bumbled into.

Ancient kingdoms, wild magic, invasions from other planes, world-warping wars, gods walking among men, men becoming gods…it was like a story, except that everyone kept telling me that these things had really _happened_. I couldn't quite believe it, but I decided to act as if I did. It was easier that way, and it got me through my exams.

I started having migraines. I'd gotten into the routine of spending one or two afternoons a week – or a tenday, as the locals liked to count it – helping Farghan in his shop. When the world started blurring and I started feeling as if my head had been stuffed full of red-hot shrapnel and was just about ready to fall off, the herbalist taught me about willowbark tea. Soon after, I was chugging the stuff like water.

After my mind had been thoroughly blown by my history lessons, Drogan taught me about the more practical aspects of adventuring. He showed me how to pack, and what to bring, and how to identify basic poisons, potions, and wands. He taught me how to clean and repair my equipment, though he said that the enchantment on Silent Partner should make repairs unnecessary. I was pleased, though confused as to why a humble little monk like Harry would be carrying a weapon that seemed to impress even an old wizard like Drogan.

The dwarf ran his gnarled fingers along Silent Partner's haft, tracing the writing that was engraved there. "Zalantar wood," he explained. "The trees catch the ambient magic from the earth and water and discharge the energy whenever someone tries to do 'em harm. Anything made from their wood has the same properties, though this one seems to need special circumstances to let go of its charge."

I touched the dark, polished wood. It tingled like it always did, the wood as warm as a living thing. "Do you know what it's got written on it?" I asked curiously.

Master Dragon harrumphed. He adjusted his spectacles and peered through them at the writing on the staff. "Well, let's see here. 'Tis in elf-script, and it says…hmm. _Amin me'a moriloomir yassen ilme'naureata._ That is to say, 'I light dark clouds with sky's fire.'" He leaned back, smiling in satisfaction. "And there ye have it."

I didn't get it, even _with_ the translation. "Have what?"

He gave me a look over the edge of his spectacles. "It won't hurt goodly creatures or mere beasts, but just ye try and hit somethin' really evil with this thing," he said, and grinned merrily. "And then tell me what happens. If I'm readin' this right, it should be pretty spectacular."

"Oh." I looked at the staff with new eyes. _I wonder whether it would work on Lois,_ I mused speculatively. I pictured my grasping witch of a stepmother, her perfectly coiffed hair standing on end, sparks shooting off of her teeth, and I smiled beatifically.

I was _definitely_ going to have to hold on to that staff.

My days were filled, and I often stayed up well into the night, reviewing note-crammed sheafs of paper and going over and over the day's lessons in my head.

I'd never had to study so hard in my life.

 _I've never had to study, period,_ I thought, bending over a treatise on Waterdhavian politics. _I was too busy doing other things when I was in college. Well…other people, mostly._

I'd skated by, nevertheless. I'd learned later that, whenever I verged on failing a class, dad would put a phone call in to the dean, who was an old drinking buddy of his, and my transcript would undergo a miraculous change.

A former secretary in the dean's office had spilled _that_ secret soon after she'd been fired from her job.

" _I hope you choke on that silver spoon,"_ a former friend of mine said to me once that piece of gossip had made its rounds to her. _"I had to work my ass off for that degree, and all along you've barely had to lift a finger. You got the Blumenthal free pass, like always."_

I'd protested that I hadn't known, but that wasn't really true. On some level, I had known what was going on. I just hadn't spared it much thought. It had worked out in my favor, after all, and back then I hadn't understood the effect my free pass had had on the people around me.

I ground my teeth and read until my eyes felt like they were bleeding. I'd show the world – this one or my own, it didn't even matter anymore – that I could do this all by myself. I wasn't just a pampered, petted failure – was I? The very idea gave me another migraine, and I brewed myself a fresh pot of willowbark tea.

Despite my determination, there were times when the task before me seemed impossibly daunting. There was so much to learn, and only so many hours in the day.

Sometime around the end of that winter, I realized that my birthday should have been coming up soon - but that I had no idea when it actually was. I didn't know how long I'd spent on the road before coming to Drogan's, and the calendar they used in this place was all wrong. I could barely even recite the names of the months correctly, much less begin to figure out how it all related to the calendar I knew from back home – if it even related at all.

That night, I slunk down to the bar and crawled straight into a glass of brandy. "What's wrong, lass?" Lodar asked me with his usual brusque concern.

I stared at my drink. "I don't even know when my birthday is any more," I said morosely.

He gave me a strange look. "What? Did it move?"

I laughed wearily. "No," I said. "I did."

Master Drogan cornered me later that night and asked to know what was wrong. There was no fooling him, especially not when I got into one of my moods.

The damned dwarf dragged the whole story out of me, right down to the type of cake dad used to make for me on my birthday – strawberry and vanilla, with whipped cream and a red candle on top. Then Drogan nodded, his blue eyes thoughtful, and sent me off to bed.

I returned from my run the next morning to find a cake on my plate. It was strawberry and vanilla, with whipped cream and a red candle on top.

Drogan must have seen the look on my face. He smiled up at me, his eyes dancing with mischievous delight. "Happy birthday, lass," he said by way of greeting. "Today's the day from now on." He winked. "Now go mark it on yer calendar so ye don't forget it again."

I did, which made me twenty-nine - and still stuck in the wrong world.

I threw myself even deeper into my studies, pulling epic all-nighters unlike anything I'd ever done in college.

When I would fall asleep at last, it was just to wake up with drool-smeared pieces of parchment stuck to my cheek and a murderous crick in my back, the latter owed to the fact that I'd just spent the past six hours sleeping on a heap of open books and adventuring paraphernalia.

Embarassingly enough, Drogan even had to teach me how to use a pen. "I dinnae know what ye wrote with back on yer world," he told me. "But here, a quill's the most common instrument. Do ye know how to use one?"

I had to admit that I didn't. He nodded calmly, and without a flicker of judgement or condemnation, he patiently taught me how to write.

After dinner, I either visited the tavern to blow off some steam, or - more commonly – sat at the little writing desk in my little corner room and worked until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

My sleep, when I could get around to sleeping, was free of nightmares. It wasn't that the memory of dad or the avalanche or Harry's death or a million other things didn't haunt me.

I just didn't have the time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these guys.
> 
> That is all.

Gradually, other students began to trickle in.

Each arrival sent ripples through our little world. Then our habits shifted to accomodate this new addition, and life went on, as busy as ever.

Dorna was the first.

She was broad-shouldered, sinewy, sallow-skinned, and auburn-haired.

She was also a dwarf, the first female of that race that I'd ever seen aside from Toli. She seemed to be much, much younger than Drogan, and her accent was subtly different. His brogue was rough and abrupt, whereas hers was much softer. She spoke in a laconic, rolling drawl that was almost hypnotic.

Maybe that's why it took me so long to notice when she stole my coin purse.

That little discovery led to an interesting theological debate.

"Your god encourages you to explore undiscovered territory, just like mine does," she pointed out defensively when I confronted her about it.

I blinked. " _My_ god?" I repeated incredulously. "Since when do I have a god?"

"Master Drogan says that you do." She arched an eyebrow at me. "Are you saying that you don't?"

I opened and closed my mouth a few times. Privately, I filed the information away under 'something else to yell at Drogan about' and made a mental note to make sure that goddamned holy symbol was still hidden in my trunk. "Even if I did," I said finally. "Since when are my pockets undiscovered territory?"

"Hey," she said, and spread her hands in a gesture of helpless innocence. "They were undiscovered to me."

"They weren't to me. Besides, there's a difference between discovering new territory and making off with it. One is exploration. The other is larceny. See the difference?"

"Ach, there's no harm in it. A coin here, a coin there…who'll miss it?" She caught my highly skeptical stare. "All right, so Vergadain doesn't _actively_ encourage stealing. So what? He doesn't mind it, either."

"That's pure sophistry."

She shrugged. "Vergadain likes that, too," she said easily. "Haven't you ever read a merchant contract? The language in there would make your head spin."

"I used to work for a politician. Trust me, honey, I know _all_ about spin."

"Do you, now?" She grinned at me, her mahogany eyes gleaming with sly amusement. "Well, then, we should get along just fine."

I grinned back. "Just as soon as you give me my money back," I said pleasantly.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine," she said grudgingly, her face turning dour. She pulled my purse out of some hidden pocket in her leather vest. "I was just trying to make sure you were paying attention."

"Mmh-hmm." I looked at my coin purse. Then I looked at her. "So…does that mean I'm not going to have to count this?"

Grumpily, the dwarven woman scrounged up a few more coins from various hiding places about her person. She handed them over.

Shortly thereafter, Riisi delivered a pair of pearl earrings to me, asking why it was that they smelled like me but had been in Dorna's room.

I thanked Riisi, headed down to the Bubbling Cauldron, talked Mara into giving me a plate of cloudberry pie fresh from the oven, and returned to the house.

For the price of a slice of cloudberry pie, Riisi was more than happy to fetch a wand of summoning from Master Drogan's lab. For another slice, she was overjoyed to sneak into Dorna's room and discharge the wand in the dwarf's wardrobe.

I didn't actually witness what happened when Dorna opened the doors to her closet. But I _did_ hear that it took her a while to chase the gibberling down and get her underwear back.

Dorna and I never actually discussed the disappearance of my earrings or the gibberling incident that followed. Funnily enough, though, my jewelry stayed put from that point onwards, though I still made sure to keep a stash of sweets on hand for Riisi. The faerie dragon was the ideal covert agent – small, stealthy, and easy to bribe.

I liked Dorna. But I didn't trust her.

The next student to come was a little harder to like.

I was running laps around the lake when a snowdrift erupted in front of me.

After months of training and occasionally being dropped into combat simulations with angry ankhegs, my response was almost automatic.

Something had popped out of the ground unexpectedly. Therefore, I screamed and tried to hit it.

The screaming part went off without a hitch, but the hitting part didn't go quite as I'd expected.

My fist bounced off of the intruder as if I'd just punched a mattress.

I looked up. A gaunt, greenish-gray face sneered at me. Its features were almost bestial, and its lower canines were far too long, though the upper weren't too far behind.

"Move, you slack-jawed buffoon!" it roared. Green fire limned its hands and spattered to the ground, each drop flaring up violently and gutting a deep hole in the snow before flickering out. "Xanos must not be delayed in his quest!"

I stared up at the man – or rather, at the half-orc, because there was no escaping what he was. No other race I knew of could look that terrifying without even trying, not even a dwarf on a bender. The state he was in was what really caught my attention, though. His clothes were in tatters, his skin was scabbed and filthy, and I could count his ribs through a gap in his ruined shirt. "Holy shit," I said. "What happened to _you_?"

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the most tactful way to greet a complete stranger - especially one who was kind of huge and kind of green and had just kind of set the snow on fire.

The half-orc snarled wordlessly and stiff-armed me to the side. I didn't resist. This unexpected development had left me feeling a little off-kilter. "Insolent wretch," he spat. "Begone."

He trudged away. I collected my brain from wherever it had run off to and hurried after him. "Hey!" I called out contritely. "Look, I'm sorry. You caught me off guard, that's all." I looked at the way he moved. He was limping badly, as if he couldn't put much weight on his left leg. There was a bloody rip in the leg of his pants, and an equally bloody, inflamed gash in the flesh below it. "You really shouldn't be walking through this snow on that leg, you know," I pointed out. "Why don't you sit down and let me find some help?"

He rounded on me. "You dare to tell Xanos what to do?" he bellowed.

I grimaced and wiped a fleck of spittle off of my face. "If you're going to scream at me like that?" I said acidly. "No. You can limp all the way to Chult, for all I care." I was pretty proud of that little display of geographical knowledge. It might not have impressed a native to this world, but it felt like an accomplishment to me. "And may the gangrene set in somewhere around Calimport," I added. "I hear there's a wizard down there who builds artificial limbs. Have him build you a brain, too, while you're at it."

Then, my spleen vented, I turned away and marched back down to the lake, still fuming.

After a brief pause, I heard snow crunching behind me. "Xanos takes advice from no one," I heard the half-orc snap.

I didn't look at him. "Anyone ever tell you that no man's an island?" I asked. "Oh. Right. You don't take advice. Nevermind." I picked up Silent Partner from where I'd left it when I got to the lake. While I doubted an injured and exhausted man would start anything, you never knew, and I _had_ just been pretty impolite to him - even though, as far as I was concerned, _he'd_ started it.

Quarterstaff in hand, I started running, keeping a wary eye out.

I needn't have bothered. He was still standing there, swaying slightly, when I finished the lap. "Hold!" he bellowed.

I loped by him. "Yeah?" I shouted over my shoulder.

"Xanos seeks a wizard!" he called after me. "An old dwarf by the name of Drogan Droganson!"

I stopped. I turned around. "Why?" I asked suspiciously.

The half-orc's yellow eyes flared with temper. "Just answer my question, woman!" he roared.

"Did you ask a question?" I asked innocently. "Because all I heard was a demand – and we don't do demands around here." I resumed my run.

I finished another lap. The half-orc was waiting for me at the end. He stepped in my path and held his arms wide as I moved to pass him. "The wizard promised to teach Xanos the secrets of power!" the half-orc barked at me.

I stopped. "Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me," I said flatly.

The half-orc's forehead furrowed. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Wow. That's the first reasonable thing you've said so far. Keep up the good work." I looked up at him, ignoring his scowl. He was big, but I saw the way his legs were trembling, and I saw the droplets of sweat beading on his forehead. I was ready to bolt if he tried anything, but something told me not to worry too much about an attack from that quarter. The guy looked one good sneeze away from total collapse. "All right," I said curtly, and swept my hand impatiently towards the path that led back to Hilltop. "Come with me."

His eyebrows snapped together in a suspicious frown. "What?"

I scowled back. "You wanted to see Master Drogan, didn't you?"

His frown changed subtly, from angry to perplexed. "Yes, but-"

"Then come with me, and I'll bring you to him," I told him, without bothering to elaborate. I'd take him where he wanted to go and see what Master Drogan made of him, but I'd be damned if I rewarded this jackass's demands with an explanation.

We'd never get to Master Drogan if the jackass in question collapsed halfway, though. I reached out to touch his arm, ready to give him a hand through the deep snow. "It's up that hill. Do you think you can make it?" I asked.

He yanked his arm away, bristling, as if my fingers had burned him.

 _O-kay,_ I thought. _So somebody doesn't like to be touched._

After an awkward moment, I shrugged and let Mr. Prickly have his way. He made it up the hillside, anyway, and he even did it without my help despite the fact that he was obviously in pain. His pride seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright – which was sort of good, because I wasn't sure how I was going to catch him if he fell. Even as emaciated as he was, he probably outweighed me by a factor of two.

To my surprise, Master Drogan reacted as if he'd been expecting Xanos for quite some time. "Welcome, lad," he said calmly, after Xanos had marched into the gathering room as if he owned the place. The wizard was seated in an arm chair, a cup of tea at his elbow and a book in his hands. "'Tis glad I am that ye could make it." He gave Xanos one of his Santa Claus smiles. "Come on in, make yerself at home."

Xanos took Master Drogan at his word, which was kind of a problem, because Xanos and I spent most of our time arguing – mostly over politics.

It wasn't that Xanos didn't have a good grounding in political theory. It's that he took it to some really strange lengths.

"The best course would be to locate a city under siege, of course, and use my powers to rescue the populace from certain doom," he told me one day, in apparent seriousness. "Then the people, grateful for the salvation of their pathetic lives, will aid Xanos in displacing and executing their former ruler, and they will make Xanos their leader."

I snorted. "Yeah?" I asked skeptically. "And how are you planning on doing that, sunshine? I don't know if anyone's told you, but it's a little hard for one man to fight off an entire army."

He sneered at me. "Do you doubt Xanos's power?"

My voice was bland. "I doubt your judgement."

"Hah! Doubt is just another obstacle in Xanos's path! He will overcome it, as he has overcome all else! His might is the might of ten thousand men! His mastery of sorcery rivals that of the sorcerer-kings of old-"

My temper slipped its leash. "Right," I drawled skeptically. "So you're going to bury that invading army up to the eyebrows in bullshit, are you?"

His eyes went as wide as saucers. His nostrils flared. "Why, you little-"

Things started going downhill from there.

A couple of days later, Xanos cornered me in the kitchen.

"Good news! Xanos has given your words some thought, and has decided that they are not completely without merit," he announced without preamble. He had his hands on his hips, and he was smirking and looking down his nose at me.

I paused with one hand still in the cookie jar. I tried to remember what I'd said to him recently, and whether or not it could be considered incriminating. "What?" I asked warily.

He grinned smugly. "A-ha! You see, it is correct that it would take Xanos some effort to defeat an army. So…" He paused dramatically. "He will buy one!"

I pulled a cookie out of the jar and looked at it thoughtfully. Then I took a bite out of it. "Good," I said noncomittaly, and brushed crumbs off of the front of my shirt. "So, where are you going to find the money to bribe an entire army?"

"Why, from my extremely successful adventuring career, of course!"

"Okay. Let's just assume, for the sake of argument, that that works out for you. How are you going to _keep_ the army bribed?"

"Bah! Once they have witnessed Xanos's true power, they will be like putty in his hands! Further bribes will not be necessary."

I rolled my eyes. "You'd better hope so. It'll just take one snitch to ruin the whole thing, you know," I growled.

He glared at me. "Explain," he ordered haughtily.

I decided that I didn't like his tone. "No," I said, with equal hauteur. Then I ate the rest of my cookie.

Things _really_ went downhill from there.

A little over a week later, a big hand slammed down on the book I was reading.

"An army of orcs may tell the world of Xanos's grand plan, but they will never be believed," the sorcerer proclaimed. He leaned forward and spoke in a singsong voice that dripped honey and venom in equal measure. "Therefore, Xanos will not use mercenaries. He will entice an orc chieftain to attack this city of his, and make it equally worth the tribe's while to vanish forever afterwards. If they speak, well...none will take their word over that of a respected ruler, now will they?" He glowered at me triumphantly. "What do you think of _that_?"

I narrowed my eyes and stared at his hand. "Fine," I said flatly. "Then what?"

"Then what _what_?" he bellowed. Veins stood out on the sides of his neck.

"You've gotten your fake army to attack. Then you've gotten them to go away. _Then_ what?"

"Then Xanos will have the former ruler executed, and he will assume the throne to rule over a grateful populace!" the half-orc barked. He threw his hands up in the air. "Cyric's Codpiece, woman! Why must you be so bloody difficult?"

"Why must _I_ be so difficult?" I shouted back. "It's reality that's difficult, you imbecile! Maybe you should try it on for size!"

"Who are you calling an imbecile, you imbecile?!" The windowpanes shook in their frames from the force of Xanos's irate scream.

"This yammering retard who's standing right in front of me, that's who!" I yelled back, half-rising from my seat to shake my finger under his nose. "Oh, and by the way, if you knock off the old ruler, what are you going to do with all of his sympathizers? Any members of the military that're still loyal? Kill them, too?"

The half-orc stared cross-eyed at my wagging finger, a sneer curling his upper lip. Then he caught my wrist and forced it down, away from his face. "And why the hells not?" he barked.

I yanked my arm away. "Because it'll be a bloodbath, that's why, and you'll not only be killing off some of the best resources you've got if you start slaughtering senior staff - you'll have to empty the treasury just to keep the uprisings down, and there go civic projects and anything else that might keep the populace happy. Way to go, jackass! Now you've got anything from riots to guerilla warfare to industrial sabotage on your hands, so good luck holding on to that new state of yours!"

His face turned purple. "Then what do you suggest, you thrice-damned, bollocks-breaking harpy?" he roared back at me.

I slammed my book shut - with the half-orc's hand still in it. He screamed. I stood. "I suggest that you'd better work on your social skills before you end up assassinated, herr fuhrer," I growled.

We didn't talk for about three weeks after _that_ one.

I complained to Drogan about it one evening. I paced the floor of his study, wildly waving a snifter of brandy in the air in my agitation. "I don't believe it! Of all the arrogant, entitled, boneheaded, bad-tempered-" I began my rant.

Drogan didn't look up from his scrolls. "Aye, lass, but ye make up for it in other ways," he said calmly.

I stopped in mid-step, my mouth hanging open. Then I shut it with a snap. "I was _talking_ about Xanos," I rasped.

Drogan did look up, then. He smiled at me, his eyes as innocent as a lamb's. "Oh? Then I do beg yer pardon, lass," he said genially. "My mistake."

I took the hint and kept my complaints about Xanos to myself from then on.

Some months later, I came back from Farghan's to find a pale, ash-blonde girl wandering the slopes below Master Drogan's farm, looking lost.

I slowed. "Can I help you?" I asked mildly.

She spun. "Oh!" she said, and blushed. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, though I wasn't sure what she thought she should be apologizing for. It wasn't as if taking an afternoon stroll was against the law. "I...I was just looking for someone..."

"Well, fortunately for you, there aren't that many someones in this town," I replied easily. I propped one hand on my hip and leaned on Silent Partner, examining her speculatively. She was a gangly, big-boned girl - plain, for the most part, but her big brown eyes were very pretty, and they gave her an expression of almost doe-like sweetness. "Maybe I can narrow it down for you. Do you have a name?"

"W-what? My name?" she stammered. "Oh, it's-"

"No, not yours," I interrupted. "The name of the person you're looking for."

She blinked. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh! Right. Well, I'm looking for someone by the name of-"

A loud boom echoed across the landscape. It was followed by the crack of splintering wood.

The girl jumped. "What was that?!" she yelped nervously.

I looked around, narrowing my eyes thoughtfully. "Hmm. I'm not sure..." Then I heard an irate scream, and saw a wooden slat shoot into the air just beyond Drogan's house. It tumbled end over end before plummeting back to the earth. I blinked. "Oh," I said in consternation. "Oh, shit."

I obviously hadn't chosen my words well. They only seemed to make the girl more agitated. "W-what?" she asked, and sidled closer to me, wringing her hands. "What happened? What's going on?"

I squinted over the rise. "Dorna must have rigged the privy with a wand of missiles," I explained. There was another explosion, followed by another high-pitched scream and a mushroom cloud of green smoke. I sighed. "Again."

A short figure appeared on the horizon, arms and legs pumping frantically. It soon resolved itself into Dorna, who sprinted towards us with her head down. "'Scuse me, pardon me, thank _you,_ " she sang out nervously.

The blonde girl and I stepped aside to let her pass. Soon after, the dwarven woman vanished into a cluster of houses further downslope.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, wincing. "Yeah," I muttered. "Definitely the wand of missiles."

Another figure appeared on the horizon. This one was big, and angry, and there was green smoke pouring off of it like steam. Also, it was limping, and it seemed to be holding its pants up with one hand.

Xanos marched straight up to me, looking neither left nor right. His eyes were blazing as yellow as the sun. "WHERE IS SHE?" he bellowed. "WHERE IS THAT VILE, MONEY-GRUBBING LITTLE HINDLICKER?"

Briefly, I considered throwing Dorna to the wolves - because, really, a magic missile to the ass was _harsh_ , no matter what Xanos had done lately.

On the balance, though, I figured I was better off not getting involved. Let the two of them duke it out, and hopefully they'd get it out of their systems before they took the whole house down. "Sorry. I didn't see her," I lied.

Xanos stared at me. He dropped his hands to his sides. "Ah, so you are foolish enough to take her side?" he growled. "Pah! The idiocy you both display on a nigh-daily basis makes Xanos mourn for the future of this world-"

I glanced down briefly, and then up, and then, as if my eyes were being pulled there on a string, down again. I blinked. Several times. "Is _that_ why you've got your pants at half mast?" I asked bemusedly.

He looked down, too. Then he emitted a short, sharp scream and yanked his pants back up. "Bloody Hells!" he roared, his face flushing a deep purple. "Why does no one ever _tell_ Xanos these things?!" Then he hobbled away at high speed, holding his pants up and muttering to himself.

I stared after him. "Well, we've learned something new today," I remarked, my voice quivering with laughter. "Turns out that ol' Xanos goes commando." I blinked yet again. "Maybe there was no room in there for anything else? Dear lord..."

The blonde girl had her eyes squinched shut and her hand pressed against her mouth. From the sound of it, she appeared to be praying - fervently. "Oh, sweet Mystra," she said faintly, her voice muffled by her palm. "Oh, sweet Mystra."

I blinked again. "I'll say," I marvelled. "Wow. Pity he's so crazy. That was just...wow."

The blonde girl stopped praying. "C-can I open my eyes now?" she asked faintly. Her face had turned bright pink. "Is he gone?"

My lips twitched. "Yeah, he's gone. You can look." I cocked my head at her. "I hope _he_ wasn't the one you were looking for," I ventured.

"Oh, gods, no," she squeaked, blushing even pinker. "N-no, I was looking for a wizard...his name is Drogan...he said he was looking for students, and I...I was hoping to speak to him, you see, b-because I'm a paladin...or, rather, I would like to be, and Mystra called me, see?" she said hopefully, and from her collarbone she lifted a little stone amulet with a circle of seven dots on its face. "B-but I'm afraid I'm not very good at it yet, you see, so I'd hoped-"

Most of the words after 'Drogan' washed right over me. "You're here to see Master Drogan?" I said sharply.

She blinked. Her fingers tightened around her necklace. "Well, y-yes," she stammered. "Why? Do you..." Her face brightened. "Do you know him?"

I stared at her. "Okay," I said. "Two things."

The girl returned my stare inquiringly. "Yes?"

"One - yes, I can take you to him. That's not a problem." Then I held up my hand to forestall any exclamations of delight and/or joy from her, because I could see them forming in her big, guileless doe eyes. "Two - wait, what's your name?"

"M-mischa."

"Well, Mischa...about that half-orc you just saw? The one with his pants around his ankles? There's something I have to tell you." I looked at her speculatively. "I think you'd better sit down," I warned her delicately.

She took the news surprisingly well, all things considered - though it took her weeks to stop turning red and scurrying into another room whenever she saw Xanos, and Dorna's unorthodox interpretation of the rules of private property just seemed to confuse her.

Mischa was sweet as pie, really she was, and, since she was also barely seventeen, hating her would have been like kicking the biggest puppy in the universe.

The thing was, none of that actually prevented me from taking a near-instantaneous dislike to her.

It wasn't that she was unpleasant in any way. As a matter of fact, she was almost _too_ kind. _Too_ selfless. _Too_ blonde and unable to grasp the concept of moral relativity.

It had been after her little brother – an apprentice mage – and his master had been attacked and killed by bandits that she had sworn herself to Mystra's service as a holy knight.

"I couldn't let anything like that happen to anyone else ever again," she said softly, her soft brown eyes brimming with tears. "There's so much evil in the world, I just…I can't stand by and do nothing." She wiped her eyes. "I couldn't protect Tory, but maybe I can protect the magic he loved so much," she whispered.

She was a good girl - and she was painfully, even embarrassingly naïve. She wanted to save the world, even though she didn't really know the first thing about it.

Boy, was _she_ in for a surprise.

I was only about ten years her senior, but never before had a mere decade felt like such a vast and uncrossable gulf to me.

I avoided her as much as I could. She brought back too many memories.

And so we were four, and Master Drogan presided over us all, his hands folded over his cane and his blue eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.

Life, and our studies, rolled ever onward.


	11. Chapter 11

_Time, time, time_  
_see what's become of me_  
_While I looked around_  
_for my possibilities  
_ _I was so hard to please_

 _Look around,_  
_leaves are brown,_  
_and the sky  
_ _is a hazy shade of winter._

_\- Bangles, "Hazy Shade of Winter" (orig. Simon & Garfunkel)  
_

* * *

I opened my eyes, blinking away the last dregs of sleep.

Moonlight slanted over my shoulder, illuminating a leather-bound spine. _History and Politics of Cormyr,_ I read. I rubbed my eyes blearily. _Oh, god._ _What a thing to wake up to._

I tried to sit up. My blankets crinkled. A book thumped to the floor.

There appeared to be something stuck to my cheek. I blinked, reached up, and peeled it off, squinting at it muzzily.

It was a piece of paper. The ink was smudged all to hell, and the writing was illegible - probably from several hours of close contact with my face.

"Well," I muttered out loud, my voice a dry croak. "Those _were_ my notes."

I hoped that I could remember what I'd written. Failing that, I hoped that I could remember what I'd been reading when I'd written those notes. Failing _that_ , I hoped that whatever I'd written wasn't going to be on the test.

I sighed and dropped the piece of paper over the edge of my bed, to join its brothers and sisters on the floor.

I got up, squinting in the pre-dawn light, and padded unsteadily over to the washbasin. The air had the chill bite of winter in it. It raised a rash of goosebumps on my skin.

The water in the basin was steaming, and there was a fire on the grate – there always was, in Master Drogan's house. It was probably magic. I didn't really care. I'd long since decided to overlook certain magical intrusions in my life in favor of not freezing my ass off every morning.

I washed quickly, hopping from foot to foot to stay warm. Then I began to dress. Cotton rustled. Leather creaked. Buckles snapped and pulled taut. Metal scales jingled.

Pacing the width of my tiny room to get my armor to settle into place, I combed my fingers through my bedraggled hair and then pulled it all into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. It was messy, but it would do until after my run and my daily sparring session, as it had done every morning for longer than I cared to contemplate.

Then I snatched up my boots in one hand, grabbed Silent Partner in the other, and headed downstairs.

Xanos and Dorna were already at the table – Dorna in front of an empty plate and Xanos in front of a full one. The half-orc's food hadn't even been touched, and he had his nose stuck in a book that lay practically engulfed in his huge hands.

"Well, look who's come to join us," Dorna greeted me. She leaned back in her chair and regarded me with narrow-eyed amusement. "Ye gods. What happened to you? You look like death."

"Thanks," I said drily. I sat down on a bench by the wall to pull on my boots. As I stamped them into place, I asked, "How bad is it?"

"Well, the hair's not too bad, for a medusa…but you've still got ink all over your face."

I blinked. Then I jumped up to my feet and hurried over to the mirror on the wall.

I inspected my face carefully. There was no ink on it – I'd _thought_ I'd gotten it all, so why had Dorna…

Frowning suspiciously, I turned around.

Dorna's moon-faced grin practically split her head in half. "Made you look," she said slyly. Then she nodded at the food-laden sideboard, which was - coincidentally enough - right beneath the mirror. "Hey…while you're there, why don't you throw me a muffin?" she suggested.

I gave her a long, level look. Then I grabbed a muffin from the nearest basket and threw it at her, overhand.

The dwarven woman's hand snapped up and caught the pastry neatly out of midair. "Thanks," she said brightly. Then she plucked a shriveled red fruit out of the muffin and held the little fruit up between her thumb and forefinger, looking at it distastefully. "Ech. Mirtilberries, again?"

I raised an eyebrow and reached behind me for a biscuit. "Complain to Master Drogan about it, if it bothers you so much," I suggested blandly.

She snorted. "Do I _look_ that stupid?"

I smirked at her. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Without looking up from his book, Xanos raised his hand. "Oh, oh, let Xanos answer this one, _please_ ," he said with mocking, schoolboy sweetness.

Dorna scowled. "Shut up, greenskin," she said, and threw what was left of her muffin at him.

Xanos lowered his book and lifted his hand. A hissing green beam shot from his forefinger and struck the muffin, which melted. "You first, rock eater," he returned pleasantly, amidst the gentle patter of liquefied pastry.

Dorna watched as the hissing puddle of goo which had once been her muffin began to eat its way through the table top. "Master Drogan is going to kill you when he finds out what you've done to his furniture," she remarked conversationally.

Xanos sneered and flapped a hand at her dismissively. "Go on, then," he said in bored tones. "Run on your stumpy little legs to whine to your Master about the big, bad half-orc. Xanos will wait."

The dwarf's eyes narrowed to slits. "You'll see how stumpy my legs are when you've got my boot up your arse, laddie-"

Mischa's head poked out of the kitchen. "I heard that!" she chided. "You two, behave yourselves!" She leveled a soapy finger at me. "And you, Rebecca! You should know better than to encourage them. You've been here the longest of any of us!"

"She is also the most lack-witted of any of us – and that includes the little anvil-headed one, here," Xanos muttered.

"Hey!" Dorna protested. "Watch who you're calling anvil-headed, you preening, stone-blind _sargh_!"

I glared at Xanos coolly. "Hey, I'll have you know that I graduated with honors from my last school," I said. Of course, I hadn't actually _earned_ those honors, but at least I _had_ graduated.

"Oh, really?" The half-orc rolled his eyes. "Studying what?" he drawled. "The bottoms of every brandy bottle in the North?"

Dorna snickered. "The bottoms of every handsome ranger and merchants' guard in the Silver Marches?" she suggested sottovoce.

"Hey! I studied political science, if you must know," I said haughtily. I put my hands on my hips. "I had big plans, so you can both stop laughing. I was going to be a d-" Belatedly, I saw the gap yawning ahead of me. I tried to stop myself short, but I'd been too long away from peddling lies for a living, and the word just kind of dribbled out before I could stop it. "-d-diplomat."

_Shit. They're going to have a field day with that one._

Both Xanos and Dorna turned to look at me, their jaws sagging.

Dorna was the first to recover. " _You_?" she exclaimed, and started to laugh. "A _diplomat_? With _your_ kind of tact?"

Xanos's book fell from his fingers. "Xanos hears that Amn is looking to stir up another civil war in Tethyr," he snickered.

"What, you think we should have her negotiate a treaty?"

"Why not? We can always pick through the ruins once the dust has settled."

The dwarf and half-orc both dissolved into hoots of laughter.

I was standing there, watching them giggle and feeling a flush creep over my cheeks, when Mischa rushed in, a full-to-the-brim bucket slopping soapy water over her hands. "All right, you two, that's enough-" she announced hotly. Then she stopped. "Oh," she said then, and relaxed, blinking mildly. "My goodness. You got them to stop fighting. But…that's brilliant, Rebecca! How did you do it?"

I opened my mouth. "State secret," I said at last, my voice stiff. "Don't ask."

Then I turned and marched out into the snow, hoping that the heat coming off of my face wouldn't melt it.

The front door closed behind me, drowning out the howls of merriment from the breakfast table.

It was obviously shaping up to be one of those days - and the day had barely even started yet.

Riisi was waiting for me down at the lake.

The faerie dragon looked up as I approached. She was huddled miserably on a tree stump, shivering. Her feather-tipped tail was wrapped around her like a scarf. "This terrible cold does not suit little Riisi at all," she moaned. She pawed at her nose and sniffled. "Oh, run quickly, rude lady, Riisi begs of you. She wishes to get out of this nasty, nasty snow."

I stopped short and stared at her. "You don't have a cold again, do you?" I asked suspiciously. "You remember what happened the last time-"

"Oh, no, no, of course not!" the dragon squeaked. "Riisi is fit as a fiddle! Healthy as a horse! Hale as a…ah…ah…"

I raised a warning finger. "Don't you _dare_ ," I warned, backing away another step. "Hold your breath and count to twenty or something, Riisi, but don't you even _think_ about-"

The faerie dragon squinted at me over her wrinkling snout. "How rude!" she protested, indistinctly. "Riisi cannot help it if she…sh…ah…ah… _choo_!" That last ended in an explosive squeak. A puff of pink smoke shot from the little dragon's nose and mouth, wreathing her head in a glittering cloud. "Oh, dear..."

I stared at it in consternation. "Oh shi-" I had time enough to say, and then a gust of wind blew the cloud my way, and that was it for coherent thought for a while.

Everything went pink and sparkly.

When I came to, it was to see one pair of yellow-green eyes and one pair of red eyes staring down at me.

The yellow-green eyes looked kind of amused. So did the red ones. A red tongue lolled out beneath the latter, grinning a distinctly canine grin.

Blindly, almost automatically, I groped around me, feeling for Silent Partner. It took me a moment to realize that I was lying on it, which was a relief. It meant that I hadn't lost it somewhere between here and the lake.

What came as less of a relief was the discovery that I seemed to be lying flat on my back. In the snow. In the middle of town.

Melting snow seeped through my leathers. I'd learned from experience that the scales on my armor functioned kind of like saucers as far as water was concerned. Once water got in there, it took forever to dry. I'd probably be dripping snowmelt for the foreseeable future.

 _Great,_ I thought muzzily. _Another thing to look forward to._

"You are late," the green-eyed man remarked clinically. Farghan cocked his head at me. "What happened?" he asked curiously.

I stared back up at them. My mouth opened once or twice. "I don't know. What was I doing?" I asked feebly, already dreading the answer.

Farghan's lips twitched. "Making snow angels," he replied in his quiet, smooth voice. "And singing."

I cringed. "Singing?" I echoed. "About what?"

Farghan covered his mouth for a moment and coughed. "About roosters," he said, his voice slightly stifled.

"Oh." I was pretty sure I knew exactly which song I'd been singing. Delia had taught it to me one night after she'd had too many nips of her own homemade hooch. "Oh, god. Was I…was I doing the hand gestures, too?"

The druid's shoulders shook slightly with silent laughter. "Some of them," he admitted.

"Oh, god." I groaned and tried to sit up, my head swimming. Farghan leaned forward, slipping a wiry arm beneath my shoulders. "Now I remember why I gave up on the hard drugs," I mumbled.

"Mmh," the herbalist murmured noncommittally. He helped me up, standing patiently as I leaned against his shoulder and waited for the world to stop spinning. "Riisi again?"

I grunted. My forehead hit Farghan's shoulder. I winced. "What kind of a creature gets a head cold and starts sneezing hallucinogens?" I asked plaintively.

The shoulder beneath my forehead shook again, jostling me. "I did warn you to hold your breath when that happened," Farghan observed drily.

"Honestly? I didn't even think of it."

"Mmh."

"You just diplomatically avoided saying that I never think, didn't you?"

"Hmm?"

"You did, didn't you? Don't fib, Farghan. I know that look."

Farghan glanced at me briefly, his eyes dancing. Then, without giving me an answer, he glanced away and clucked at Bethsheba.

The wolf stood up and shook herself. I watched her warily. "Oh, no you don't-" I started. Bethsheba trotted to me and bumped affectionately against my legs. The impact nearly knocked me off of my feet. I reached out and grabbed her shoulder to steady myself. This was easy, because her shoulder came up to my waist. "Damn druids and their damn dogs," I muttered, tangling my fingers in her mane of white fur. Bethsheba whuffed at me. It was a sound that bore an uncanny resemblance to a human laugh.

I sighed. It was obviously going to be one of those days. "Oh, just shut up and let's get to work," I sighed, kicking Silent Partner up into my hands and shaking the snow out of my hair. "You two. It's like dealing with a six-legged version of Abbott and Costello," I added in a muttered undertone.

By way of response, Farghan smiled in a somewhat puzzled way and held his arm out courteously. I took it with as much dignity as I could muster, distributing my weight impartially between him and my quarterstaff. I still felt a little wobbly.

We were halfway to his shop when the door to the town hall banged open.

I caught a glimpse of carrot-orange hair and ducked behind Farghan. "Shit! It's Haniah," I hissed. "Don't let her see me-"

The skinny, carrot-headed figured stopped and waved her arm frantically. "Rebecca!" she called. "Wait! I need to talk to you!"

Farghan gave me a sympathetic glance from the corners of his eyes. "Too late," he said, and a smile lit his eyes. "Play dead and hope she goes away?" he suggested.

"I can't. Not even death'll stop Haniah from asking me questions," I groaned.

"Rebecca!" Haniah panted, jogging up to me and Farghan. "Just the person I needed to see-"

I let my frown bleed off of my face, leaving a blank mask behind. "I told you, Haniah, just let the mayor get as schnockered as he wants and learn to forge his signature," I said. I couldn't quite keep the annoyed edge from my voice. "What's the problem?"

"But I cannot do that!" Haniah gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "What if…what if anyone finds out?"

"They'll probably shake your hand for getting shit done around here for once." I saw the expression of devout horror on her face and modulated my tone a little. "Haniah, we're in _Hilltop,_ population four-hundred – five-fifty if you count the cows - you've got a barter economy up here, and half the time nobody ever pays any attention to mayoral decrees anyway." I threw my hands in the air. "Hell, if you don't want to forge his signature, just write the documents yourself – you have to do that anyway, don't you? - then carve a stamp out of half a potato, sober the man up long enough for him to aim it at the right pieces of paper, and you're golden. I'll ask again - what's the problem?"

She paused, blinking several times in rapid succession as she seemed to absorb my words. "Oh…well…I can do that…but that's not what I wanted to ask," she said hesitantly.

I blinked back at her. "Oh," I said. I felt my cheeks flush slightly, and cleared my throat. "So, uh…what _was_ your question?"

An expression of mild disgust overtook Haniah's usual expression of mild panic. "'Tis Piper," she said. "He has been stirring up trouble again with that nonsense he preaches. Many folk have complained, and I have asked him to leave, but that…that _creature_ refuses." Stiffly, she ran a hand through her hair, making most of it stand on end. "I tell you, if he does not leave, I will…I will send the entire town guard after him!" she erupted.

"What, Bors _and_ Larzan?" I asked innocently. "At the same time, even?"

"You may laugh-"

"Thanks, I think I will."

"-but I am at my wit's end!" Haniah latched onto my shoulders with surprising strength. Given that she looked like a toothpick with a kumquat skewered on the tip, this wasn't particularly strong. Still, I gave her an 'A' for effort. "Rebecca, you have experience in these matters, you have told me as much, and you have been such a help to me so far. Surely you can-"

I read the writing on the wall. It said, 'More work for you, Rebecca,' - as if there weren't already too few hours in the day.

I tried frantically to extricate myself with, "Look, Haniah, just tell him that he has to spread the good word to the rest of the Silver Marches and point him towards Blumberg or something. Let them handle it-"

"At this time of year?" she squeaked. Her face went pale. "Oh, no, no, I cannot do that. What if we have an early snow? He is an old man – what if he cannot make it? What if he gets caught in an avalanche?"

I flinched reflexively at that word. _Snow, all around, crushing, can't breathe…_ "Good! Let nature take care of your little problem," I heard myself snap.

Haniah gasped, shocked. "Rebecca! You don't mean that," she chided.

I rubbed my forehead and drew in a deep breath, trying _not_ to feel as if some massive weight was trying to pin my sternum to my spine. I wasn't sure whether it came from the memory of the avalanche, or from another emotion, what was it called…oh, right. _Guilt._ "No," I said wearily. "You're right. I don't. Just…give him a new pair of shoes and a bag lunch and tell him to go preach to the masses of Silverymoon the next time you send out patrols. He'll blend right in with the rest of the street crazies, and hopefully the Ilmatari there will keep an eye on him. Right?"

She frowned uncertainly. "I do not think he will listen to me – he knows I would like to get rid of him. Maybe you should speak with him-" she began.

I bit back a groan. "I'll think about it," I said hastily.

The mayor's assistant brightened. "Will you?" she breathed in relief, and clasped my hand in hers. "Oh, thank you, thank you-"

I tried to detach myself from her as gently and politely as possible. "I'll think about it," I repeated, with what I hoped was finality. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Haniah, Farghan is waiting for me-"

"Oh! Oh, of course, how silly of me to keep you from your duties," the red-headed woman exclaimed, and smiled at me brightly. "What would I ever do without you, Rebecca?"

 _Beats me. I've been waiting a year and a half already to figure_ that _one out,_ I thought glumly. "You'll do fine, Haniah. Don't worry about it," I said out loud, and took my leave of her.

Farghan was nowhere to be seen, which meant that he was probably waiting for me in his shop – probably looking at his watch, or whatever portable timepiece the people around here used. I'd never seen anything except big, old-fashioned grandfather clocks, and _that_ was something only Master Drogan could afford, but after all I'd seen and learned over the past year, I wouldn't put it past some clever mage to have a talking hourglass on a chain or something. I wouldn't put _anything_ past mages.

The string of bells on the door to Farghan's shop jingled merrily. I stepped over the threshold.

Then I stopped abruptly. " _What_ have I got stuck in my hair?" I asked.

Farghan placed a potion vial down on his workbench with a _clink_ and came over to look. "A roc's talon," he said, after a moment's inspection. He reached up and helped me detangle my hair from the thing that was hanging just above the door. "My apologies. I had hung it there to dry."

"Really?" I ran my hands over my hair, trying to smooth it down, and cast a suspicious glance backwards at the hooked and barbed talon above the door. I laughed briefly. "Well, at least it's better than the ogre eyeball you had up there a few weeks ago." I'd nearly pissed myself, walking in to see _that_ staring back at me.

Farghan chuckled softly and returned to his workbench.

I sidled past the creeping bindvine Farghan had somehow managed to make grow through a crack in the floorboards, propped Silent Partner against the wall, settled in opposite the herbalist, and went to work.

The motions were familiar by now, and the silence was comfortable, broken only by murmured requests for this or that reagant. Bethsheba was curled up in the corner next to the hearth, her chin on her paws and her eyes, as always, on Farghan.

I poured a measure of dried fenberries into a mortar. Then I uncorked a vial of troll blood, smelled it, gagged slightly – which was usually an indication that it was still good, because troll blood that had gone off smelled like skunk oil with a side of botulism and would have made me do a lot more than just gag – and dribbled it over the berries. Then I corked the vial carefully, put it aside, and began to mash the mix into a paste.

Once I was done, the paste would be distilled into a potion that could regrow anything up to a severed hand or foot – always a useful thing to have in a frontier town, where do-it-yourself was the name of the game and the town lumberjacks regularly came home missing a few of their pieces.

Idly, I wondered how thrilled the doctors back home would be if they had this kind of technology, or chemistry, or alchemy, or magic, or whatever it was. We could do a lot back on Earth, but regrowing body parts – that was something else. I wondered if it would even work the same way back home that it did here – but, if it did, it would change medical science forever. No more prosthetics, no more dangerous surgeries, just a somewhat nasty-tasting drink, and _poof_!, a new hand.

Maybe I would bring some samples home, see what could be made of them. If I ever _got_ home, that was.

Farghan stoppered another vial and labeled it carefully. "Pass me the hartshorn, please," he instructed. I complied. "Good. Why don't you chop the rattleweed for me when you have finished with that?"

I accepted the twine-wrapped bundle of spindly roots, laid it to the side, and scraped the contents of my mortar into the bowl of an alembic. Then I set the alembic in its brass stand, lit the candle beneath it, picked up a knife, and tackled the rattleweed.

Eventually, Farghan popped our little bubble of silence with a question. "What news from Master Drogan's territory?" he asked casually.

My hands stilled in mid-chop. "Nothing new, really," I said after a pause. I resumed chopping. "Xanos and Dorna are still trying to kill each other. Mischa is still trying to play peacemaker."

"Are you and Xanos still at odds?"

I snorted, without looking up. "Who _isn't_ at odds with Xanos?" I asked drily. "Hell - sometimes I think even _Xanos_ is at odds with Xanos."

Farghan cocked his head. There was a near-feral crispness to the move that was eerily reminiscent of Bethsheba. In moments like these, I suspected that the druid didn't always _entirely_ remember that he was human. "That may be a very fair assessment," he remarked.

I shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe," I said. "But good luck getting close enough to Mister Prickly to figure _that_ one out."

Farghan didn't reply. That usually meant that whatever answer he had, he'd thought of saying and discarded as not needful. I didn't mind. I found it kind of refreshing, after the endless chatter that went on at home.

I was forced to rethink my opinion of Farghan as it related to needless chatter when he asked, "Has your Master said anything to you about finishing your studies?"

My hand slipped on the knife. I felt a sting in my thumb, and jerked my hand away with a hissed curse. The knife clattered to the table. Blood welled, and I stuck my thumb in my mouth. "No," I said shortly, pulling my mouth away. I watched more blood spill out of the slice in my finger and grimaced, reaching for one of the bandages that Farghan always kept around. "Nothing. For all I know, I could be an old woman by the time he's satisfied that I'm ready to leave."

The druid frowned. Then his face cleared, and he passed me a pot of salve. "Be patient," he instructed calmly. "He is the teacher. He knows best."

I snorted. "It's been more than a year since I came here. Don't even talk to me about patience. You know how close I am to losing mine?"

Farghan smiled faintly. "You cannot lose what you do not have," he said drily.

I laughed, in spite of myself. "Funny. Very funny." My thumb swathed in bandages, I picked up my knife again and went back to chopping.

I had first come to Hilltop in the last days of summer. Now it was the beginning of winter, more than a year later, and while the year had passed more quickly than I'd thought it would, a year was still a year.

I was a year or more away from home. It was a year or more that life on Earth had gone on without me.

Whenever I asked how long my lessons would keep going, Drogan would only say, "For as long as they need to." As if _that_ was any kind of answer.

More than once, I'd considered leaving. If Master Drogan wouldn't give me my diploma or whatever it was that graduates from adventuring school got, well, I'd already learned a lot. Maybe I could just take my new skills and run.

I don't know why I stayed. Curiosity, maybe. I'd already learned so much, but I was a stranger in a strange world, and it seemed that for every single thing I got used to there were half a dozen shocks lying in wait.

There was fear there, too. I was afraid that I might miss some vital piece of information if I left too soon, some little tidbit that wouldn't seem like much but would end up saving my life on down the line.

Or maybe I stayed because leaving now would basically be admitting to failure. _Spoiled heiress isn't good enough to finish what she started,_ I imagined the headlines reading. _Runs away again, tail between her legs. News at eleven._

The mere thought made me grit my teeth. Rattleweed turned to a minced pulp beneath my flashing knife.

No. I wasn't leaving. Not yet.

But I hadn't lied to Farghan. I really was starting to lose my patience.

If I waited much longer, would I even have a home to go back to? Had I already been written off as dead, my missing persons file closed, a memorial in my name put up next to my parents' graves? Had everyone I'd ever known back home washed their hands of me and gotten on with their lives? Had they been relieved? Did they even miss me? Did anyone even care?

I laid down my knife and gave a sharp jerk of my shoulders, as if I could shake my worries off of them like some kind of metaphysical dandruff.

That was when Bethsheba raised her head and started to growl.

The wolf's hackles rose. A low, steady growl rumbled from her throat. Her eyes were fixed on the door.

Farghan's hands went still. He turned his head, cocking it again in that wolfish way of his. "Pick up your staff," he told me suddenly.

I leaned backwards. My hand closed around Silent Partner's haft. "What's wrong?" I asked softly.

Farghan looked at Bethsheba. She looked back, and there was a moment of eerie communion, like the two of them were talking without talking. "She smells caves, and poison," he said at last. Casually, he reached down and unhooked his sickle from his belt. I'd only ever seen him use it to harvest plants, when he held it loosely and wielded it with a certain delicacy. Now he was holding it in a slightly different way – taut, almost, and his olive eyes were as tightly focused as Bethsheba's.

I tightened my grip on the quarterstaff and looked at Farghan. "What do you think we should do?" I asked.

He held up a hand. "Wait."

I waited. I didn't bother wondering how those two knew that something was wrong. I probably wouldn't understand it, anyway. All I needed or wanted to know was that, after a few narrowly-avoided encounters with some seriously scary shit out in the woods, I trusted Bethsheba's nose – and Farghan's instincts. They were a whole hell of a lot sharper than mine.

I tried to brace myself for a nasty surprise, something on par with one of Master Drogan's pop quizzes, but, not knowing what to expect or when, I still jumped when a screeching blur burst in through the door.

Farghan whispered something I didn't understand, and gestured with his free hand.

The bindvine next to the door gave a lurch. Then, all at once, its creepers unraveled and lashed out.

They twined around a little two-legged lizard, which looked down at itself and said, "Uh-oh-"

Then Bethsheba reached the creature, her jaws snapped shut on its throat, and whatever the creature might have said next was left to my imagination.

Muscles rippled in the wolf's powerful neck as she threw her kill to the side. The fur on her snout was spiked wet and red.

Some of the bindvine's tendrils snapped under the tension. The corpse thumped onto the floorboards.

I stared at the thing. I'd never seen one of those things in the flesh. Dead or alive, I'd only seen illusions of it, courtesy of Master Drogan.

Somehow, it looked different in person. Master Drogan's illusions hadn't quite captured how it looked like a scaley sack of skin and bone, the very picture of malnourishment. They hadn't captured the way its eyes went glassy when it died, either, or the way a throat looked after it had been torn apart like damp cardboard.

I looked away abruptly. "A _kobold_?" I asked Farghan, to distract myself. "But…I thought…Master Drogan said that they never come out of their caves-"

"Rarely, unless they are driven," Farghan replied. He said another word, one that crawled through my brain in a very unpleasant way, the way magic usually did. His sickle began to glow, red-hot. "There will be more. Kobolds never travel alone."

"Sort of like they never leave their caves?" I muttered. But I said it quietly. After the kind of shit that had happened to me since that long-ago night in Central Park, I'd developed a powerful aversion to words like 'never' and 'impossible'. Using them only seemed to tempt fate into proving me wrong. "There'll be more, then?" I asked, more crisply.

"Almost certainly," Farghan replied. He gestured. "Bethsheba, guard. Rebecca-"

The door banged open again.

Farghan moved so quickly that I didn't even see him cross the intervening space. In an instant, he had his sickle at the intruder's throat.

Mischa looked down at the red-hot sickle, a little nonplussed. "E-excuse me," she stammered. "C-could you please get that away from my neck?"

Farghan blinked. He lowered his hand almost as quickly as he'd raised it. "I apologize," he said. "I took you for an intruder."

"Oh, don't worry, it's fine," the girl babbled dismissively, waving her hand. She sounded breathless. With her other hand, she rubbed her neck, wincing slightly. "We're all a bit nervous, really, it's-" She trailed off. Her eyes lit on me. "Rebecca!" she gasped. "I'd hoped you were here. You have to come-"

I looked at the paladin. Her usually pale face was flushed, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Unease walked its cold fingers up my spine. "What is it?" I asked.

The paladin swallowed. "It's Master Drogan," she blurted. "The kobolds…they attacked the house. Master Drogan has been hurt-"

I stared at her. A disbelieving laugh escaped my throat. "By _kobolds_?" I asked incredulously. Master Drogan was old, and I doubted any adventurer could get to his age by being easy to kill, much less vulnerable to an attack by a bunch of brighter-than-average iguanas. "You're joking, right?"

And then, too late, I realized that Mischa had no sense of humor. She tried, she really did, but watching her make her way to a punchline was like watching a halfling try to play basketball – hopeless from the get-go and doomed to leave everyone involved feeling embarrassed and ever so slightly violated afterwards.

The paladin looked at me. "Would to Mystra that I was," she said. She extended a hand. "You have to come, both of you – please," she said, pleading, her brown eyes filling with tears. "It's bad."


	12. Chapter 12

_They showed up on my doorstep just a couple weeks ago_   
_They looked so sweet and harmless_   
_Tell me, how was I to know?_   
_They got a little too close to the microwave and then much to my surprise_   
_They grew to forty thousand times their original size_   
_They started mutatin' right before my eyes_   
_Oh my_

_Attack of the radioactive hamsters from a planet near Mars_   
_A race from a distant place_   
_They came in ufos shaped just like cuban cigars_   
_Man oh man, you oughta hear 'em squeal_   
_Now the whole wide world is their exercise wheel_   
_Attack of the radioactive hamsters from a planet near Mars_

_\- Weird Al Yankovich, "Attack of the Radioactive Hamsters from a Planet Near Mars"_

* * *

 

"He's unresponsive," Dorna was saying. Her face was taut. "Poison, I think, but-"

Master Drogan shouldn't have been lying there like that. That was all I could think. He shouldn't have been lying there like that, limp as a ragdoll, his skin nearly as grey as a duergar's and sheened with sweat.

"Help me move him." That was Farghan. "I need to see the point of entry." The old dwarf's eyelashes fluttered as we heaved him onto his side. I thought I heard him groan, but he didn't come out of his coma.

"It's just a little nick," Dorna murmured, gently fingering the bloody tear in the back of our teacher's robes. "How-"

"Sometimes a nick is all that is needed." Farghan looked up. "Rebecca," he said. "I need you."

I blinked. I tore my eyes away from Master Drogan, looking up. "W-what?"

"I need you to get a few things for me," the herbalist repeated patiently. "Go down to the shop. I will tell you what to bring-"

Farghan gave me his list and I stumbled out into the cold again, shivering. To stop the shivers, I ran.

Hilltop was a mess. I hadn't noticed it before, in my rush to get back to the house. I was starting to notice it now.

The snow was churned and blood-spotted. Scaled hands stuck up out of the drifts, clutching at the wintry air.

Some houses had fires in the thatch. The villagers had formed bucket chains. They moved stiffly, their faces blank and businesslike.

There'd be time for hysterics later. Right now, it looked like everyone was in damage control mode.

Everyone except for me, it seemed. My hands were shaking, and my vision kept doubling strangely. I'd have liked a drink - Lodar had even given me a hip flask for my birthday last year, because my sneak of a teacher had made sure to tell everyone in town that I was another year older - but Master Drogan radiated disapproval like a small, grumpy sun if I actually brought it with me on my runs.

Bethsheba looked at me questioningly as I entered the shop. "Not now," I told her distractedly, not stopping to wonder why I was bothering to explain the situation to a wolf. "Farghan's fine. Drogan's not. Farghan's working on it. He'll be back later." She lowered her head to her paws again and sighed deeply.

I knocked over a few vials before I'd found everything I came for. With unsteady hands, I shoved the reagants in a sack, wrapped the mouth of the sack around my hand to close it, and ran back to the house at full tilt.

The others were still there, arguing.

" _How_ did they get in?" Mischa demanded. She wrung her hands. "The wards-"

"Are down." Xanos reached one end of the room, spun on his heel, and paced back the other way, kicking his calf-length robes out of the way with each stride. His hands were clasped behind his back, white-knuckled. "If you had anything but air in your head, you would have felt the shift."

Mischa turned red. "There's no need to be nasty," she said hotly.

Xanos snorted. "No?" he asked acidly. Then he resumed his pacing. "A more logical question would be: how did a pack of kobolds defeat the dwarf's magic?"

"Maybe they had help," Dorna suggested.

Xanos shot her a blistering glare. "That much is painfully obvious," he growled.

"If it was obvious, why didn't you say it right away, then?"

" _Because_ it should have been obvious to anyone with half a brain!"

Farghan spoke up mildly. "There is a species of mountain goat, the members of which frequently butt heads to establish dominance within the herd's hierarchy," he said, without looking up from Drogan.

With varying expressions of confusion, the others all turned to look. "Beggin' your pardon?" Dorna asked diffidently.

"Of course, the loser in these displays often ends up with a broken neck - or thrown down the mountain," Farghan went on calmly. I'd never heard him string so many words together at once. He looked up at Dorna and Xanos, lifting a dark eyebrow. "A more intelligent animal might comprehend how this weakens the herd and makes it more vulnerable to predators, and thus avoid such confrontations," he said pointedly.

Xanos spun away with a snort, his face empurpling. Dorna turned an interesting shade of red. Neither replied.

I ignored them and knelt by Master Drogan, shoving the sack of ingredients at Farghan. "How is he?" I asked.

Farghan touched my shoulder lightly, a gesture of tacit commiseration. "See for yourself," he suggested.

I nearly bit my tongue in half, trying to keep it from taking off the druid's head. "All I see is that he's unconscious and he's not getting better," I said between clenched teeth. I laid my hand on Drogan's forehead. He was burning up. "What do you-"

Then something beneath my sternum gave a funny twitch, my damn vision doubled on me again, and I forgot what I was going to say.

Drogan wasn't Drogan anymore. Or rather, he was, except that there was a second Drogan there. It was like an afterimage of my teacher, except that, while it shifted and faded in and out, it didn't go away, and it overlaid Drogan's body like a shroud.

I could see the circuitry of veins running through him, and there was something moving through them, a hot and acrid thing that coiled through his body like smoke.

Some weird instinct prompted me to reach out and try to catch it, though my hands weren't moving and I wasn't sure what I was reaching out _with._

It didn't work, anyway. The stuff in Drogan's veins kept twisting away from me, slippery as an eel. I couldn't seem to get a grip on it.

Farghan was looking at me. "Very good," he said. "But, unfortunately, it will not work."

I raised my hand to the bridge of my nose, squinting. A nasty headache seemed to have settled in, right behind my eyes. "What-"

"The poison nullifies healing magic," Farghan explained, except that that wasn't any kind of explanation for what had just happened at _all_. "We should move him," the herbalist said then. "Which of you is strongest?"

We exchanged glances, Mischa and Dorna and Xanos and I. After a moment, Mischa stepped forward. "I-I can help," she said, and I believed her. She was all gangly knees and awkward elbows, but she was as tall as me, and much broader across the shoulders. There was a robust strength to her – probably from all of those healthy outdoor chores she'd done, growing up on a farm. "Where are we bringing him?"

Farghan glanced around briefly. "Is there a bed of some kind on this floor?" he asked.

"There is one in the parlor," Xanos spoke up. He jerked his shoulders irritably, stopped his pacing, and crossed the room to kneel at Drogan's feet. Mischa moved to stand at the dwarf's head. "Xanos will show you." He looked up at the paladin, his face unreadable. "On the count of three, paladin – assuming you can count so high," he said nastily. Mischa bit her lip and flushed red, but said nothing.

Then they hoisted Master Drogan, one student at his shoulders and another at his ankles, and carried him away.

Drogan's clock ticked.

Mischa perched on the arm of an overstuffed chair, her hands clasped nervously around her knee. "What do we do now?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Xanos grunted. He was leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "We find out who did this," he said grimly.

"Aye. And how do you propose we go about that?" Dorna asked sourly. She was sitting on the armchair, swinging her legs back and forth and drumming her fingers on her knees, as if she couldn't quite sit still.

"We, um…we ask Master Drogan for clues?" Mischa stammered hopefully.

As one, we all turned and looked at the old wizard, who was still lying grey-faced and unconscious on his makeshift cot.

Xanos unfolded his arms and snapped his fingers triumphantly. "What a brilliant idea!" he exclaimed with a sarcasm so sharp, it could have cut glass. "Why did Xanos not think of that?" He settled against the wall again. "Tin-plated little troglodyte," he muttered ascerbically.

"Ooh! How can you be so…so _insufferable_ at a time like this, Xanos? Doesn't it mean anything to you-"

Abruptly, the half-orc pushed himself away from the wall. He came up holding a finger right in front of Mischa's snub nose. "Do not," he hissed. "Do _not_ say what you were about to say, little girl-"

She glared at his finger. "What makes you think you know what I was about to say?" she asked with a toss of her head.

He bared his too-long canines in something that only vaguely resembled a grin. "Because Xanos, contrary to popular belief, is no fool."

"Guess appearances really can be deceiving," Dorna muttered, just loud enough to be heard. "With a face like yours, I'd have taken you for a pimple on a troll's arse, myself."

He rounded on her. "And if not for your mouth, Xanos would have taken _you_ for a heap of troll dung-"

"Hey, 'least I don't _look_ like one-"

"Oh, would you two please just stop! You'll wake him-"

"Stop what?" the half-orc asked, spreading his hands in a queerly graceful gesture of exaggerated innocence. "Xanos was just addressing this sticky-fingered little goblinoid here-"

"Oh, of course you'd think that. You don't need to put your hands on any money – people pay you their life's savings just to get you to stay a goodly distance away-"

I lowered my flask from my lips, swallowing a mouthful of brandy. It set off a soothing burn in my throat, which travelled straight down to my gut, where it settled my stomach's nervous roiling. Somewhat. "Could we please move the discussion to a more useful topic?" I asked irritably. "Like, say, what we're going to do if whoever did this comes back for a second try?"

Xanos sneered at me. "It is quite simple," he said pleasantly. "We will take _you,_ paint you as a target, and stake you to the ground outside the front door-"

"Xanos!" Mischa snapped. "That was uncalled for-"

"Why? You cannot seriously suggest, little girl, that that perpetually pickled _banshee_ could possibly be put to any better use-"

"If it's a target you're looking for, greenskin, why don't we use you?" Dorna suggested blithely. "You'll be a lot harder to miss, and I think I'd miss Rebecca more. At least _she_ knows how to have a good time."

"Yes, yes, of course you would think that," Xanos said dismissively. "But never fear! If you miss your fellow sot so much, we can always replace her with one of the practice dummies. We could enchant it to hold a staff and say things like," Xanos raised his voice to a _truly_ insulting falsetto, "-like, 'What? I don't understand!' and, 'Bartender, another vat of moonshine! I think I might be sobering up!'"

I rounded on him. "Oh, now that's just begging for a punch in the-" I began

The half-orc talked right over me, gesticulating wildly. "-and we can even make the godsdamned thing fall over in the cattle trough and howl bawdy folk tunes until morning, for that extra pinch of authenticity-"

"Xanos!" Mischa hissed, scandalized. "Language!"

"A-ha!" The half-orc raised a triumphant finger. "An excellent idea! That one will never understand a word Xanos says if he insults her in elven. Hsst, Rebecca - _l_ _lie n'vanima ar' lle atara lanneina._ "

"You know, I don't even _care_ what you just said," I stated flatly. I grabbed the first object that came to hand. "I think I'll park this–" I glanced down at my hand, "-this candlestick up your nose, just on general principle-"

"Good choice, Rebecca. With your aim, you'll be needing a nice, big target."

"Can it, Dorna."

"Hey, I'm just saying-"

"I said can it."

Mischa's forehead furrowed in confusion. "Should we be canning things?" she asked hesitantly. "Only…it's already the middle of winter-"

Xanos sagged down against the wall, putting a hand over his eyes. "Bloody hells, little paladin – if Xanos holds your head to his ear, will he hear the ocean?" he muttered.

"More like the rattling of pebbles, I'm thinking," Dorna mused.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Mischa. You're a good girl, but-"

"Oh, and you're so much smarter than me, is that it?"

"Well, now, I didn't say that-"

"Go ahead and say it, dwarf. Xanos always likes to see an accomplished liar in action."

I gave the candlestick to Dorna. "Go ahead and hit him in the kneecap," I told her grimly. "I'll tell everyone it was an accident."

Mischa threw her hands in the air. "Go ahead, laugh at the poor, ignorant farmgirl!" she went on in an exasperated monologue. "Look at her – she's so stupid, she still has straw in her hair!"

A throat cleared.

"No, little paladin. You have straw _for_ hair. There is a difference, you see, between _being_ an ambulatory haystack and merely _looking_ like one."

"Why, you-"

"If…I may...interrupt…."

Dorna rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're a fine one to be talking about someone else's looks, Xanos-"

A voice raised, drowning out our discussion. It was raspy, and the effort of speaking so loudly made it crackle hoarsely. "Would..it be…too much t'ask…for me t'get…a word in…edgewise?" it asked irritably.

I looked over at the makeshift cot on the other side of the room.

So did Dorna, who glanced over once and subsequently tumbled off of her chair with a muffled exclamation.

The others spun. "Master Drogan!" Mischa gasped. She stumbled over the edge of the parlor carpet in her haste to get to the dwarf's bedside. "You're awake!"

The old wizard grimaced. "'Course…I am. The bickerin'…among you four…could wake…the dead," he said. Then he scowled. "Which…I'm not…in spite o'…some spirited attempts…to rid th'world o' me." He tried to lift his hand, which was trembling violently. He got as far as an inch off of the coverlet, at which point his arm flopped back down like a dead fish. "Blast," he mumbled. "This is…inconvenient."

Dorna picked herself up off of the floor and crossed the room to Master Drogan's cot. Without waiting for permission, she rolled up the older dwarf's sleeve and checked his pulse with an air of brisk professionalism. Then she laid a hand on his forehead and peered into his eyes as if panning for gold. "Master Drogan," she said respectfully. "How do you feel?"

The old wizard made a face. "Like…I've been trampled…by a stone golem," he grumbled.

Mischa hovered at the head of the bed, wringing her hands. "What can we do, Master Drogan?" she asked worriedly. "Can we get you anything? Are you thirsty? Should we-"

Dorna looked up at the fussing young woman, who was blocking the light coming in through the room's only window. "Mischa," she said mildly. "Why don't you go get Farghan?"

"But-"

"Do me a personal favor, Mischa. Get Farghan."

"No." The word trembled on Drogan's lips, but there was a force behind it that made us all turn to look. He half-raised his head from its pillow, wincing. "No. Farghan's…a good man. But...I need to speak…o' things that don't concern him. Shouldn't concern any o' ye, either, but…well, it's done. No cryin'…o'er spilt milk." The effort of speaking was starting to make the old dwarf wheeze, and he laid back, his eyes drifting shut. Then they popped open again, and he frowned in annoyance. "Help me up," he commanded.

Dorna's lips tightened disapprovingly. "Master Drogan," she said. "You shouldn't be sitting up. You shouldn't even be talking-"

Two spots of color burned in the old wizard's cheeks. "For Mystra's sake, lass, ye're less than…a quarter…of my age, so I'd take it kindly…if ye stopped…tryin' to mother me!" he wheezed. Dorna blinked, once, and subsided with a deferential nod. "Now…help me up."

Once the wizard was propped up against every pillow that could be rummaged up, he sighed. "Much better," he said. His eyes went to me, standing silently at the foot of his bed. "'becca," he murmured, and smiled slightly. "So ye're…all here. Good."

A shadow fell over Dorna and Mischa and I. It was Xanos, come to join the congregation around the old dwarf's cot, his yellow eyes narrowed in thought. "Xanos presumes, from your words, that you know what prompted this attack," he announced without preamble.

The dwarf closed his eyes, briefly, and nodded. "They were after…some artifacts," he said, with obvious effort. "Four of 'em. In my keeping…given t'me…by th'Harpers."

Dorna looked at him sharply, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Harpers?" she asked. "You've had dealings with the Harpers, Master Drogan?"

He gave a short huff of a laugh. "I _was_ one," he corrected. "Retired, now, o' course. But, once a Harper...always a Harper...as they say." He looked at the others, who were all looking at him with varying levels of shock. Me, I was still hanging back around the bend at 'confused'. I didn't know what a Harper was, but I wasn't all that interested in asking for clarification in front of Xanos, since _he_ obviously knew everything and would jump on the chance to remind me of how little _I_ knew. "I wasn't…entirely honest with…the four of ye," Drogan admitted gruffly. "There were secrets…I had to keep."

Mischa's face softened. "Don't worry, Master Drogan," she said. "You made a promise, didn't you? We understand." She looked up, her eyes narrowing. "Don't we, Xanos?" she asked pointedly.

The half-orc rolled his eyes. "Oh, of _course_ ," he said snidely. "Xanos is _ecstatic_ to discover that he has been sitting on top of a deadly Harper secret all this time."

"Oh, come off it, Xanos," Dorna interjected brusquely. "You know Master Drogan wouldn't have allowed us to stay here if he knew that it would put us at risk-"

"Ah? So he did not even _know_ the true cost of stewarding these artifacts?" Xanos threw his hands in the air and turned away. "Excellent!" he cried. "The Harpers are now so good at keeping secrets that they even keep their secrets secret from themselves!"

"Enough," Drogan spoke up, in a voice that, despite its breathy weakness, brooked no argument. "This arguin'…serves no purpose." He took in a deep breath, then blew it out again. He looked glassy-eyed and exhausted, and I wished the others would stop drawing this out. He needed his rest, not an endless round of arguments and questions.

I shifted my weight slightly. "The artifacts," I prompted, raising my voice to be heard over the arguing. "What were they, and where are they now?"

Drogan gave me a shadow of his approving Santa Claus smile. It was enough, for now. "The artifacts…have been taken," he explained. His eyes went distant. "Riisi tells me…th'kobolds…had dust of dispellin'…broke the wards...in the lab." And then he began to explain in earnest.

His explanation made no _sense._ So someone in the Harper headquarters had realized that there were a few things in his desk which no one actually knew anything about, except that they were powerful and it probably wasn't a good idea to keep using them to hold down the paperwork in his inbox. So he'd decided to pack those pieces off with Drogan when the old dwarf retired, figuring no one would find them _or_ the old dwarf all the way up here, and the Harpers could stop wasting valuable resources trying to identify what was apparently unidentifiable and they could all get back to…to harping, or whatever the hell it was that Harpers did.

But what would a bunch of kobolds want with a mummified hand, or a dragon's tooth, or a mask, or a stupid little statue? If a group of people like Drogan couldn't figure out what those things did, how could a tribe of kobolds know how to use them?

"Kobolds are said to be descended from dragons," Dorna said thoughtfully. "Maybe they wanted the tooth?"

Drogan was already shaking his head. "Kobolds…too cowardly. Wouldn't attack…not on their own. And the poison…" Droplets of sweat were running down his forehead, his eyes were fever-bright and bloodshot, and the two bright spots of red were the only color left in his cheeks. "Too strong. Kobolds…couldn't…have made it…"

"So another has recruited the kobolds to do their dirty work," Xanos concluded. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Cunning. But ultimately futile."

"Not if we never find out who did it, greenskin," Dorna said bleakly.

I shrugged. "Then follow them," I said abruptly.

Dorna looked at me. Her forehead furrowed in a thoughtful frown. "The kobolds?" she asked. "But they've long since fled-"

"So? You keep saying that you can track anything, and that many kobolds has _got_ to leave a trail," I insisted. I straightened up, frowning. "Follow the kobolds," I repeated. It seemed obvious. "They're cowards, right? Everyone says so. So what works on them?" I looked around, waiting for a response to my rhetorical question. Getting none, I answered it myself. "Fear," I said. "Intimidation."

Xanos glared at me. "And so?" he demanded. "This is all repeating the obvious-"

"Is it? Then why am I having to spell it out for you?" I asked sweetly. I leaned back against the wall, tapping my fingernails against Silent Partner's haft. "You follow them and coerce them into giving the artifacts back," I said. "And if that doesn't work…well, the kobolds are afraid of attacking people, so whoever sent them has to be scarier than Master Drogan, otherwise the kobolds would've just stayed home, or ambushed and killed whoever was bullying them as soon as this other person's back was turned. Right?" It was the kind of power struggle you saw all the time, in politics – except that, back home, we were civilized enough to not _literally_ backstab each other. Barely. From what I'd learned of kobolds, they didn't have the same compunctions. I looked at the others. "When you've got a boss like that, you don't waste time," I explained. "You get back to him and give him exactly what he's asked for – that, or you change your name and move to Zimbabwe and take up, shit, I don't know…goat herding?" I shrugged. "So, follow the kobolds, and they'll lead you to whoever's giving them orders."

Dorna's frown was fading, curling up into a smirk. "I could probably track them," she said thoughtfully. She stood up, wrapping her hand around the hilt of one of her short swords, which I'd never seen her without. "If I left now…aye. I've done it before, when I was a scout-"

Mischa leaned over to Xanos. "Where's Zimbabwe?" I heard her whisper to him. He shook his head without taking his eyes off of me.

Drogan coughed. It was a phlegmy, unpleasant-sounding cough, and it made Dorna's head snap around, worry flashing over her features. I was pretty worried, myself, but Farghan had said that Drogan would be fine. The herbalist was good at his job. I just had to trust that he was right about this. "Don't…look at me…like that," the old dwarf gasped, when the fit seemed to have passed. "'m fine…ne'er better…"

Dorna looked at him a moment longer. "I'll get Farghan," she announced crisply, and turned to leave.

A feverish hand latched on to her wrist. "Farghan's needed…t'tend the wounded…down in town," Drogan told her, his breath rattling in his lungs. "Anyway, we can't…involve him…further." His gaze sharpened, despite the fever-sheen in his eyes. "Ye're a healer…and ye know the art of ambushin'…surprise attacks…how to defend 'gainst them." He patted her wrist. "Ye're stayin' here. Mischa…ye as well," he added, ignoring her protest. "Ye're too green, girl…can't risk it."

Then the old dwarf turned to Xanos. "Xanos, lad," he said faintly. "Ye've got…a nose for trouble, and ye know…how to track. Think…y'can follow…those beasties?"

If Xanos's chest puffed out any farther, he was going to lift off the ground like a parade float. "Say no more," he said confidently. "Xanos's skills are more than up to the task!"

"Good." Drogan leaned back against his pillows, closing his eyes. "You an' Rebecca…get goin'," he croaked. "Time's wastin'."

I jumped. My elbow banged against the wall. "Shit!" I yelped, and cradled my elbow in my opposite hand, staring wide-eyed at Drogan. "Wait…what? I didn't mean…I don't know how…"

Xanos's eyes seemed ready to pop right out of their sockets. " _What_?" he screamed, and pointed a trembling, sausage-like finger at me. "You want Xanos to take _her_? Are you out of your _mind_?"

Master Drogan opened his eyes again. His eyes were blue and sharp as new steel. "Mind yer manners, boy," he rasped. Then he smiled, faintly. "Or…the young lady'll…teach ye…some manners…eh?" His eyelids fluttered closed again. "Stupid…t'go alone," he murmured. "'Sides…ye've got…t'find…the right path…girl's got a knack..."

I stared at him, open-mouthed. Panic boiled up into my brain. "But…you never taught me how to track…I can't…" _I can't do this,_ I thought. "I wouldn't know where to _start_." And it was the last thing I wanted to do. What business did I have, traipsing all over after overgrown iguanas and god knew what else? All I'd wanted was to find a way home. "Master Drogan, I can't-"

The old wizard snorted softly. He beckoned me closer, and I came around the bed reluctantly, my hands clenched so tightly that my nails were biting into the flesh of my palms. I knelt, leaning close to him.

"'Course ye can," the dwarf whispered in my ear, and chuckled. He moved his hand just enough to give my nervous fist a shaky, soothing pat. "Ye'd never ha' been claimed by yer god, otherwise," he told me softly.

I stared down at him. His face looked so haggard. I unclenched my fist and laid my hand over his. "But-" I protested weakly.

Drogan's face tightened. "Enough," he said, and his voice was sharp – his teacher's voice, the one that promised hours and hours of extra homework if I didn't do what he said _right the hell now_. "Ye can, and will." His face softened. "Do this…for me, lass," he murmured. "And ye'll…be done…and free t'go. I promise."

I stared at him for a while longer, while an incomprehensible murmur of bickering floated above my buzzing head.

Eventually, Drogan's eyes fluttered shut and didn't reopen. Numbly, I reached out and checked his pulse, just to be sure. He was still ticking, but I didn't like the way he looked.

Then, jerkily, like a puppet on tangled strings, I stood.

"Dorna," I said, loudly enough to get the others to fall abruptly silent. "Take care of him. Send for Farghan if anything changes."

Then I turned, and looked at Xanos. He looked back. He looked about as chagrined as I felt. "Get your shit together," I told him coolly. "I'll be ready to go in ten minutes."


	13. Chapter 13

No one asked me if I was okay. That was the weird thing. No one asked me if I was sure that I really knew what I was doing, or that I was comfortable with the assignment Master Drogan had just dropped onto my shoulders. Maybe everyone just mistook my shellshocked expression for one of calm.

I went upstairs to collect my things.

I reached my room and carefully closed the door behind me.

Then I dropped to my knees, bit down on the backs of my knuckles, and let out a muffled scream.

I couldn't believe I was doing this. What did I know about evil artifacts? What chances did a former heiress and party girl have against someone who could get through even Master Drogan's defenses? What was I supposed to _do_?

And why, oh why, had I agreed to go trekking through the wilderness with _Xanos_? Sure, Drogan had said I'd be done with my schooling, if I did this…but what was _this_ , and how the hell was I supposed to get it done? If these kobolds reported back to someone else, finding them might only be the _start_ of a very long project, during which I'd be in the company of an apparent megalomaniac with some very deep-seated psychosocial issues.

A wild thought burst into my head. _You could leave,_ it suggested seductively. _They won't follow you. They have enough problems. You just have to wait for the right time, and poof – gone._

_And then you can work on getting home at last. Alone._

I rose to my feet. The calculations ticked over in my mind. Slowly, I began to pack.

_Bandages, rope, a change of clothes, a few toiletries…_

I could leave at night. Wherever Xanos and I went today, we would have to camp eventually. There was a pouch of carefully dried little flowers in my pack, a handful of which would send even a half-orc into sleepyland for a good eight hours.

 _Master Drogan will be fine,_ I told myself. Farghan had said as much. Sure, he looked like hell now, but he was tough as nails. He'd make a full recovery and be back to normal in no time.

… _a needle and thread, a quill and ink, leaves, powders, berries, salves…_

Mischa was barely trained, but Xanos and Dorna were competent. Once I was gone, they would regroup and take over the task of recovering those artifacts. They didn't need me.

_...jewelry, rations, coins, and potions…_

I left the holy symbol where it was. If it wanted to chase me across Faerun, so be it. Soon I'd be back on Earth, where there were no meddling gods to fill my brain with holy fire and hound me with their signs.

I cinched my pack shut and shrugged it onto my back.

I looked around the room which had been my own for over a year. It looked so empty. So quiet.

Numbly, I reached out and smoothed the coverlet over my bed. I moved my pillow a little to the right, so that it lay neatly orthogonal to the coverlet.

I didn't leave a note. There wasn't much to say – or maybe there was too much, and I just didn't know where to start.

Then, feeling light-headed and strange, I took up Silent Partner and left.


	14. Chapter 14

_When you hear the knell of a requiem bell_  
_Weird glows gleam where spirits dwell_  
_Restless bones etherealize_  
_Rise as spooks of every size_   


_Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize_  
  
_\- Barenaked Ladies, "Grim Grinning Ghosts"_

* * *

 

The crypt door groaned like the bones of the mountains, blasting us with cold, stale air.

A fluttering swarm of shrieking little shapes poured out. I cursed and ducked.

Xanos snorted. "Bats," he said. He looked down at me scornfully. "Are you that afraid of a few flying rodents?"

I straightened so quickly that I nearly hit my head on an overhanging gargoyle. "They startled me, that's all," I snarled. Then I gathered my nerve and pushed past him icily.

The catacomb was predictably gloomy. Deep shadows pooled in the corners of the chamber, and the air stank of heavy dust and old, old death.

I stopped abruptly in mid-step. The ceiling wasn't very low, but it was stone, and heavy, and dark, and I could almost _feel_ its weight pressing down on me. No, scratch that – I _could_ feel it.

_white everywhere can't breathe can't move can't get out_

A bone-deep shudder ran through me, and I spun around, wrapping a protective arm around my chest. It felt like my ribs were clamped in a fucking vise, all of the sudden.

There was a warm, reassuring weight in my hands. _Silent Partner,_ I thought blurrily. Gratefully, I leaned my forehead against the quarterstaff and tried, desperately, to breathe.

When I felt something brush against my shoulder, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I whirled, Silent Partner automatically coming up at the ready.

Xanos backed away, his hands upraised defensively. "What in the nine bloody buggering _Hells_ is wrong with you, woman?" he barked. "Is this any time to daydream?"

I felt my face flush. God, what a start this was to this whole deranged expedition. There could have been a whole army of kobolds in here, and I'd never have noticed. And to have a freak-out like that in front of Xanos, of all people! "I wasn't daydreaming," I said through gritted teeth, lowering my weapon. "I was-" I trailed off. I jerked my leather-and-scale straight, and very deliberately didn't look up at the ceiling. "I was in an a-avalanche once. This place kind of...reminds me of it," I explained curtly.

The half-orc stared at me expressionlessly. "Ah," he said at last. "Xanos sees." He raised his hand, then, and shifted his stare to it. After a moment, a globe of cool white witchlight sprang into existence above his palm. It cast shimmering rays in almost every direction. He looked back at me. "Well?" he demanded imperiously. "Will this help? Speak up, woman! We do not have all day."

The light _did_ make the shadows a little less pressing. The problem was that the reassurance didn't make me any less inclined to take that light and shove it right up Xanos's nose - not while he was taking _that_ tone with me. "Then what are we waiting for?" I retorted. "Stop showing off, and let's get moving."

Whatever the half-orc's response to that would have been, it was stolen from his lips by a gust of charnal wind.

The gust whipped up centuries of dust from the floor, coating my nose and throat with grey, choking grit. I gagged and spat, horrified by the prospect that I might just have inhaled the last mortal remains of some long-deceased elf.

Then I forgot all about hygiene, because the dead were speaking.

Voices came on the wind – muttering, hissing, howling, babbling in a liquid tongue that seethed with rage and grief so ancient that it defied all comprehension.

I hunched my shoulders and clapped my hands over my ears, panting. I couldn't listen. It hurt too much.

The ghostly wind rolled over us and then away, receding into some unimaginably far distance.

My face felt numb. All of the blood had drained from it. Also, all of my hair seemed to be standing on end, which was a neat trick.

Xanos wasn't looking much better. "If you anger the spirits in this tomb with your foolishness," he said through stiff lips, "I will make certain that it is _your_ soul they devour first."

Shaken as I was, I couldn't let that go by without a retort. "I'm a fast runner," I pointed out hoarsely.

Xanos snorted. "You cannot outrun a ghost."

"No, but I don't have to." I smiled at him. It wasn't a very pleasant smile. "I just have to outrun _you_."

He snarled at me. I put on my loftiest expression and stalked further into the tomb, flexing my fingers on Silent Partner's haft to loosen their white-knuckled grip.

There were bloody, muddy tracks on the ancient marble floor. Xanos verified that they'd been made by kobolds, though to me they looked like little more than patches of dirt on the stone floor.

We had followed the little lizards all the way from Hilltop to this place, a dilapidated old cemetery not far from the lake where I usually ran my laps. I hadn't even known it was here – or, if I had, I think I would have taken it for nothing but a pile of tree-choked rocks. I would definitely never have noticed the crypt.

The kobolds, on the other hand, must have known that the tomb was here. We had found a number of them dead outside, gnollish halberds and black-fletched arrows buried in their scrawny little bodies. There had been gnollish corpses stiffening in the snow beside their reptilian enemies, which implied that the kobolds had gotten in a few good hits before going down.

What the gnolls had to do with anything was unsure, but Xanos had an eye for tracks and a nose for blood, just as Drogan had said, and both had led us to this place.

From the way the air raised goosebumps on my skin, I had to wonder whether the kobolds had just traded one danger for another. This tomb was giving me the screaming heebie-jeebies.

If Xanos was feeling any heebie-jeebies of his own, though, he didn't show it. He marched into the elven catacomb as if he had every right to be there, and to hell with anyone who stood in his way.

I followed much more circumspectly, my eyes darting nervously from shadow to shadow and, occasionally - as if pulled there on a string - to the ceiling.

Uneasily, I tried to concentrate on the walls, instead. They were elaborately engraved. Next to me I saw a grotto of trees on a distant seashore, and further on I saw a procession of dancing figures, their faces worn to blankness by the slow erosion of time.

Fluted columns supported the vaulted ceiling. Vines twined up them, a splash of living green here among the dead. I didn't know how they grew. This place hadn't seen the sun since the marble that made it had been pulled from its quarry. But grow they did, and their leaves rustled softly, as if moved by some intangible wind.

Rats scurried into far, dark corners as we approached. There were gnawed bones scattered all over the floor. I wondered who they'd belonged to. Not that it mattered – their former owners were long gone. Only the rats had a use for those bones now.

There was a half-eaten kobold on the stairs down to the lower level. I would have stepped right into it if I hadn't planted Silent Partner's butt on it first and heard a thoroughly sickening squish.

I wobbled for a moment before I regained my balance. Then I peered down. "Oh, my god," I said, indistinctly. I backed away and tried to scrape gore off of my staff's mithril end-cap. I only ended up smearing it further. Bile rose in my throat. "Oh, my god. That's disgusting."

Xanos glanced at the corpse indifferently. "It is no more than the little rat deserved," he said blackly. His yellow eyes glinted. "Possibly less." He paused thoughtfully. "Though it is good to have such a clear trail," he added. "The kobolds cannot be far. Look. The corpse is still warm."

He had a point. Still, it was a good thing I'd be out of this whole ordeal by morning. I wasn't sure if I could handle the number of corpses that seemed to be involved in this adventuring business.

An image of Master Drogan, lying grey-faced on the floor of his own home, rose to my mind. It surfaced suddenly, taking me off-guard.

I tried to push the thought back down. _He'll be fine,_ I told myself. _He doesn't need my help._

We moved on.

The stairs wound down to a long, dark hall. Tombs lined the walls, most of them little more than darkened niches. After I glanced into one of them to see a skull grinning back at me, I made a special point of not looking at that, either. My list of things to ignore was growing longer and longer by the minute. Much more of this and I'd have to close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears, and start singing at the top of my lungs.

The air down in the next corridor had the same taut, skin-prickling feeling that I'd encountered so many times before in the practice barn – usually right before the situation went tits up.

I stopped.

Xanos noticed. He stopped, too. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously.

I swallowed. "Listen," I said, my voice barely above a choked whisper.

He cocked his head. "It is quiet," he agreed. His eyes narrowed. "Too quiet."

Something rattled, off in the shadows. It sounded like dice hitting the floor.

I thought I saw something move, a whiter blur in the dark.

Xanos's eyes widened. "Bones!" he barked. "Get down!"

The half-orc took his own advice and dived for the floor.

I didn't. I froze.

I watched as the faint white shapes raised their arms. Then I heard the thwip and buzz of a flying arrow, followed by another and another and another, and it dawned on me that _these_ arrows were probably real, and that if I didn't hide behind something or duck I'd end up as bristly as a porcupine, not to mention a whole lot deader.

Time seemed to slow. Xanos shouted something. A hissing stream of acid lanced past me, heading for our attackers.

Instinctively, I raised my hand in a useless, warding gesture.

I wasn't sure what I planned to do. Maybe I had some crazy notion that I could deflect the incoming arrows like Harry once had, though I knew I wasn't half the fighter he had been. Maybe I wanted to protect my face, because it would be bad enough to die but it would be even worse to die ugly.

Then again, maybe it was just a reflex, and I didn't really mean anything by it except that I was pretty sure I was about to get shot and just as sure that didn't want to.

Then something strange happened.

That ever-present tingle in my chest unwound.

I sucked in a breath, and the tingle spread, raising goosebumps on my skin.

Then I breathed out, instinctively. My hair blew into my eyes, lashed by a whip of wind.

The arrows stopped a few inches from my upraised hand, as if they'd just run into a wall as solid as the stone around us. Then they dropped to the floor with a chorus of dry, wooden clatters.

I stared at them numbly. Dust motes swirled through the air in front of my face, as if entrapped in an invisible wall.

I couldn't move - I didn't dare. Every heartbeat, every breath, shuddered with a strange, taut energy. I didn't know what would happen if I let go of it.

Another hail of arrows sped towards me. The air in front of me shuddered as the arrows struck it. Those, too, fell to the floor.

I shuddered, too, and fought to catch my breath. The impact had washed through me like a hurricane blast. I wasn't sure if I could hold this thing for much longer – whatever it was.

Xanos stared up at me as if seeing me for the first time. "How did you do that?" he demanded.

The tension was already whipping through my head, making me feel like a tuning fork struck at just the wrong frequency. "I don't know!" I cried.

"What do you mean, you do not know?" He sounded intrigued and annoyed, all at the same time. "Did the dwarf not teach you?"

A note of hysteria crept into my voice. "Are you deaf, or is your head just shoved so far up your ass that you've got your tonsils stuck in your ears?" I shrieked. "I said I don't know!" The shield wavered under another flight of arrows, and I staggered backwards. "Drogan never mentioned anything like this!"

A scowl slashed across Xanos's face. "Then the more fool the both of you," he snapped. "Bah! It is as they say. If you want something done right, you must do it yourself," he muttered. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "On my signal, count backwards from ten," he added abruptly. "Do not think. It is obviously not your strong suit. Xanos will do the rest."

I didn't have much choice but to do what he told me and suck up the insults – for the time being. My senses quivered with the effort of holding the barrier, so much so that I could barely see straight. I felt strange, almost delirious, and my breath came in ragged pants. This was _hard_.

"Start counting!" Xanos barked. He heaved to his feet.

_Ten,_ I thought frantically. I _really_ hoped that Xanos knew what he was doing. If he didn't, I was going to come back to haunt him. The bastard would never get a decent night's sleep again, what with my angry ghost howling in his ear every night for the rest of his miserable life.

_Nine. Eight…_

Focused as I was on my counting, my attention wavered.

When I got to six, the wall dropped.

It was like letting go of a rubber band that had been stretched to the breaking point. That weird, tense energy snapped back on me, sending me reeling backwards.

My foot slipped on a pile of tiny bones – rat, maybe, or bat. I wasn't sure what it was, and under the circumstances I didn't really care. I hit the floor with a loud, "Oof!". Stars danced in front of my eyes.

Dimly, I heard Xanos cursing. Bowstrings sang again. Green fire billowed overheard. Things shrieked, in a not-quite mortal way, and bones cracked like breaking wood.

Then I heard a meaty thunk, and I saw red blood start to well up around an arrow in the half-orc's leg.

"Oh, gods damn it," I heard Xanos say, right before he fell over.


	15. Chapter 15

Xanos threw himself to the floor of the clearing and glared at me. "Useless fool," he snarled. "Did you never learn healing in all the time you have been with the dwarf?"

I gave him a snarl of my own. "I _told_ you," I snapped. "I'm not a cleric. And I don't do healing." I dropped my pack with a thump. "Now let me look at that bandage, you fatheaded schmuck."

The half-orc sneered at me as I pushed aside his robe - a calf-length number in garish blue and purple wool with gold braiding, split front and back like a riding habit - and started rolling the leg of his breeches up to reveal his bandaged calf. "Fool," he said again. "If you are not a cleric, why do you wield divine magic?"

It warmed the cockles of my heart, the way he yowled when I gave up on decent bedside manner and just yanked the leg of his breeches all the way up to his knee.

"That's bullshit," I said shortly. I confiscated the knife he'd had hidden in his boot, since it was conveniently close at hand, and cut the knot on the impromptu bandaging job I'd slapped on his leg back in the tomb, making sure to be none too gentle about it.

I ignored the tingle beneath my sternum. It kept trying to spread to the rest of me, and every so often my vision went strange, like it wanted to delve straight past Xanos's punctured skin to see all the layers of torn flesh and muscle and broken blood vessels that lay beneath. Enough bizarre things had happened to me lately - I didn't think I'd be able to cope with one more. Stubbornly, I blinked my sight back to normal. "I don't do magic," I went on. "I'm as mundane as a goddamned stump."

The half-orc rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, and Xanos is a faerie dragon," he said in a mocking, singsong voice. "See him twinkle!"

I ignored him and peeled the blood-crusted bandage away from the wound, prompting a flurry of curses from my patient. "You know, if you would just drink a healing potion, this wouldn't be an issue," I told him.

The sorcerer's face was tight. "Have you never listened to what the dwarf has tried to teach you?" he asked scathingly.

"Yeah. That an adventurer should never go into unknown territory with a handicap – like a bum leg. For instance."

"Strange. The dwarf has always told Xanos never to waste a healing potion on a minor injury, in case a major injury is waiting just around the corner."

"If you keep on contradicting me like this there'll be a major injury waiting around the corner for _you_ , all right."

"It is not contradiction to correct erroneous statem-" Whatever he was going to say next turned into a strangled scream. "Beshaba's Breath, woman! Why must you be so hamfisted?!"

"If you would just shut the fuck up and let me work, this might hurt less," I said grimly. I discarded the bandage and turned away, scowling. "Great," I muttered to myself. "Now I'm going to have to light a fire." I _hated_ doing that. I'd never really gotten the hang of it. "Why hasn't anyone in this place invented matches yet?"

I saw a flare of green light, followed by a _fwoosh_ and a crackle. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun. "What the h-" I paused. There had been a pile of fallen branches and pine needles in the middle of the clearing – maybe the remnants of someone else's campfire.

Now it was glowing merrily. Green fire licked at the branches.

Xanos gave me a lofty stare. "Is there anything else you are incapable of doing?" he asked sarcastically. "Just so that Xanos is fully aware of your limitations."

I bared my teeth at him in something that only superficially resembled a smile. "Go to hell," I said sweetly.

He bared his teeth back. "You first," he said, just as sweetly.

I lost it. "You know what your problem is?" I barked. "You never listen, that's what! You've got your head shoved _so_ far up your ass-"

" _I_ never listen?" the half-orc shouted back incredulously. He tried to lurch upright, went pale, and sat back down again, heavily. "I never listen! Hah! Fine words, coming from Her Royal Obliviousness herself! There are brick _walls_ with better hearing than you!"

"Obliv-" I spluttered to a stop. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me. _I'm_ oblivious? So what does that make you, Mr. 'Gee What a Great Idea It Would Be to Practice Fire Spells in the Fucking Practice Barn'?"

"The hay was damp!" he screamed back at me.

"Not damp enough! Jesus Christ, were you planning on leaving Drogan's and joining the circus as the human torch or something? You almost gave Master Drogan a heart attack when he saw those flames shooting through the roof!"

Xanos paused. His face froze. "The dwarf _was_ somewhat overset," he admitted, wincing slightly.

My lips twitched. "'Somewhat overset' doesn't even begin to cover it," I said. "I _heard_ some of those things he called you."

The half-orc grimaced. "Yes," he said. "Xanos did not even know what some of those words meant. He had to look them up afterwards."

"Yeah, and _you_ speak Dwarven," I agreed. Then I started to laugh. "T-then Mischa and I had to come running from the house with one of the throw rugs from the front room and bodytackle you with it to extinguish the flames-"

The sorcerer put his hand over his eyes. "Black God's Balls," he muttered. " _Do not_ remind Xanos of that day."

"And you expect me to be able to forget? _I_ was the one who had to sweep up all the ash afterwards, you know."

"Yes. Xanos remembers. You were covered practically head to toe in it." One corner of the half-orc's mouth quirked upwards. "If you had had a whip in your hand, Xanos might have mistaken you for a drow priestess on the rampage."

I raised my eyebrows. "Did I seem that pissed?" I asked curiously.

The half-orc snorted. "Let us just say that Xanos was glad there were no altars or sacrifical daggers in the vicinity."

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Well, then, it's a good thing I'm no priestess," I said drily. Then I knelt, and began rummaging through my pack for my salves. "We'll just have to patch you up the hard way."

A few handfuls of the cleanest snow I could find went into a tin mug, which I placed near the flames. When the water was as hot as I could bear, I used it to wash my hands and rinse them clean of soap.

Xanos watched me. "Is that really necessary?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes," I said calmly, without offering an explanation. I dried my hands and picked up a flask of apple brandy, a jar of salve, and a roll of clean bandages. "Now, hold still so I can clean this." I smiled at him. "Fair warning," I added cheerfully. "This is going to hurt."

Though it was satisfying, the way the color drained from the half-orc's face when I dribbled some of my hard-earned brandy into the arrow wound on his leg, I found myself unable to bandage the wound quite as roughly as I'd meant to.

His breath seethed from between his clenched teeth as I swabbed the wound with greenish salve - it nearly matched his skin tone, funnily enough - and began winding the clean bandages around his calf. "I'll give you some fresh bandages and the rest of the salve," I said shortly. I could always make more, after all. "Check the wound twice daily, and _clean_ it before you touch it, do you hear me? Be sure to wash your hands first, too. Even I know that puncture wounds are nasty about getting infected."

He gave me a strange look. "Do you plan to be elsewhere tomorrow?" he asked.

 _Shit._ "No," I said out loud. "But this is the last time I baby you. You can be your own damned nurse from now on." I stood. I took an absent-minded swig of the brandy. My nerves felt a little rattled, for some reason. "Now, sit back and try to relax. I'll make you some tea."

I knew the flowers I wanted by smell. I didn't really need the firelight to tell me which they were. I'd had them on my mind all day.

I reached into my pack. My hand brushed dry, crackling linen. Instinctively, I cringed away from the contact.

Something rustled. Then it clamped down on my wrist.

I blinked.

Then I screamed like a banshee and yanked my hand out of my pack.

Belpheron's hand dangled from my wrist. Mummified flesh, as brown and tough as leather, scraped against my skin.

"Holy _fuck,_ " I shouted, and flung the thing away from me.

The artifact landed in the snow a few feet away from the fire.

"You hindlicking dolt!" Xanos roared. "What are you thinking, throwing a priceless artifact around like th-"

He stopped talking abruptly. So did I – or rather, I just stuck with my stunned silence.

The hand was moving.

It flexed its fingers. The desiccated joints popped and crackled.

Then Belpheron's hand unfurled and began to pull itself across the ground.

Slowly, inch by inch, the hand crawled over to my feet, where it unbent a creaking forefinger and tapped the toe of my boot insistently.

I looked down at it, wide-eyed. "What the hell?" I yelped. I tried to draw my foot away.

Belpheron's hand followed me. It latched onto my boot with the blank and mindless determination only a re-animated hand could muster.

"Wait," Xanos said. His catlike yellow eyes were narrowed in fascination. "Xanos thinks it is trying to tell you something."

"Yeah," I said shakily. The hand was nestled against my boot like a sleeping puppy – a hideous, shriveled, undead puppy. "It's trying to tell me that I should have let those fucking kobolds keep it."

Xanos gave me a look full of condescending scorn. "Then Xanos will take it, if you are not strong enough to hold it," he said.

Now _that_ was a low blow. "I didn't say-" I began. Then I stopped. Belpheron's hand was pointing at something.

I looked down at it. Then I turned, and looked in the direction it was pointing. "What?" I asked it. In my fascination, I momentarily forgot that I was talking to a severed hand, or at least I forgot how weird the whole situation was. Maybe I'd just seen too many weird things lately. I was starting to go numb. "What's there?"

The hand drummed its fingers in midair, impatiently. Then it mimed a walking motion with its forefingers. It pointed again, more insistently.

My lips twitched upwards bemusedly. "You want us to go somewhere?" The hand gave me a creaking thumbs up. "All right. Where?" It pointed again. "Okay, fine. So what's there?" It didn't respond. "Something important?" Thumbs up. "Something we need?" So-so waggle. "Something like you?" Thumbs up. "Another artifact, then?" Emphatic thumbs up. "Well, shit. That's good to know. Thanks."

Xanos was looking at me funny. "You can communicate with that thing?" he asked.

"I used to travel with an Ilmatari monk who'd taken a vow of silence," I replied absently. Then a small, choked knot of pain hit me right in the heart. My smile faded. "Believe me," I said, and my voice grew a little duller. "Next to him, this thing is easy to understand."

Xanos was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps it is a good thing that you were able to trick those kobolds into thinking that the hand was worthless," he said grudgingly.

I snorted. "I thought you wanted to kill them."

"Xanos did not want them to report back to their superiors. Our enemies seem to know too much, whereas we know far too little. Always strive to correct a deficit of knowledge. Ignorance is weakness." A faint smirk appeared on his face. He'd gotten some color back, which would have been a relief if his natural color hadn't been so close to that of boiled asparagus. "He must admit, however, that it is gratifying to contemplate their disappointment when they discover that their minions have so foolishly given away their prize."

I felt my lips quirk into an answering smirk. "Wouldn't you just pay to be a fly on the wall when _that_ happens?" I mused. In my mind's eye, I saw Drogan's face, grey and sickly and sweat-beaded. Then I imagined the screams of rage when whoever'd done that to him found out that someone _else_ had run away with the loot. "Talk about poetic justice."

Xanos chuckled. His golden eyes glinted with righteous malice. "Indeed," he said. "It is a blow our enemies will not soon forget."

An awkward silence fell. I realized that I was grinning – at Xanos, of all people.

My grin faded. I turned away.

Belpheron's hand had gone quiet. Gingerly, I shepherded it bag into my bag - well away from the section where I kept my clean underwear. Then I began sorting through herb packets.

Xanos cleared his throat. "Do you perform your prayers at night?" he asked. His voice was oddly diffident.

I gritted my teeth. "For the last time," I said grimly. "I'm not a cleric." I found the packet of flowers, and turned it over in my hands, frowning. "And I sure as hell don't pray," I added.

Then I hunched my shoulders and occupied myself with brewing a cupful of nice, restful sleep for Xanos. My demeanour didn't exactly invite conversation. Thankfully, the half-orc seemed to take the hint.

For some reason, I couldn't seem to meet his eyes, not even when I handed him the little clay cup of tea. I didn't know why. It's not as if it would hurt him any. "Drink this," I mumbled. "It'll help you sleep." That much was true, so it wasn't _really_ a lie. Not technically.

I felt a grim little twinge of amusement. I suspected that I'd spent too long in politics. I couldn't tell a lie from the truth anymore.

Xanos accepted the cup and drank. He didn't even question the gesture, which made me inexplicably angry. _Don't trust me, damn it,_ I thought at him viciously. _Don't you dare._

The half-orc was frowning pensively, oblivious to my mental urgings. "You are no cleric," he remarked. "And yet you cast a spell of divine origin. That much is certain. Xanos would have recognized sorcery." He drank the tea, his eyes still on me. They were intent, as if I was a puzzle he was trying to piece together. "So, you are no sorcerer, and certainly no mage. And yet you cast a spell without any incantation or ritual preparation, which is…strange, for a cleric. Hmm. I wonder…yes, it is possible, although it is unusual for a god to take such a step. There must be an ulterior motive…"

Something about his measuring look irritated me to no end. "Well?" I snapped. "Are you going somewhere with this?"

The half-orc scowled at me. "There is a strange power in you," he said. "Xanos is not certain of its nature, but he would call you a fool if you did not seek to harness it."

I snorted. "You'll call me a fool anyway."

His cat's eyes were unreadable. "Perhaps," he said. "Then again, Xanos did not seek his power - not at first. Perhaps you, too, may learn to embrace the lessons Xanos has learned, without…without…" Then he shook his head, blinking. "Strange," he said. "Suddenly, Xanos feels very…very…" He slumped, and his eyelids drooped shut.

I retrieved the cup after it had tumbled from his hands. I cleaned it, dried it, and packed it away.

Then I sat on the opposite side of the campfire, hugged my knees to my chest, and watched him.

 _I should get going,_ I thought. If I wanted to be gone by morning, I had to leave now.

My eyes fell on Xanos's bandaged leg. Blood was still seeping through the bandages, despite my best efforts. I wondered if he knew how to apply the salve, or if he'd just fuck it up and end up with a permanent limp or, better yet, a peg leg. He claimed to know everything, but he definitely didn't know much about first aid. Drogan seemed to have tailored our lessons to our individual skills, and Xanos was much better at setting things on fire or melting them than fixing them.

For some reason, I thought of Master Drogan. He'd looked so pale, so weak. I still wanted to know who had hurt him, so that I could either return the favor or get someone else to do it. I didn't necessarily have to get my revenge personally. I just wanted the one behind this to get what they deserved, some way or another.

On the other side of the fire, Xanos snored. It was like listening to a duck getting sawn in half in a sewer drain.

 _That's it,_ I thought. _It's now or never. Time to hit the road, Rebecca._

Xanos wasn't going to be able to move very fast on that leg. That was good. It would give me plenty of time to outdistance him.

On the other hand, if I left now, Xanos would either go on alone with a handicap, which was risky, or he'd take forever to return to Master Drogan and regroup. By then, even he and Dorna might lose the trail, and I wasn't about to risk letting the culprits behind the attack on Master Drogan get away scot-free.

 _What would Harry do?_ I wondered, and the answer was easy to find. Harry wouldn't leave anyone in this kind of a state.

But I wasn't him. I wasn't even a very good person, and I was very far from kind. I knew that. As far as I was aware, everyone who'd ever known me knew that.

I wrapped myself in my cloak and leaned back against the trunk of a tree.

 _Maybe I should wait,_ I mused. It wouldn't hurt to stay another day or two. Just until the damned half-orc was healed enough to go on alone.

Then I would leave. It wasn't a problem, really. I could leave any time I liked.


	16. Chapter 16

_Let me illuminate my interpretation_   
_Which I will try to serve with an illustration_   
_All the beasts in the woods_   
_Bare their fangs and peddle goods_

_Let us take the diagram, examine it in detail_   
_Some channels they are wholesale, some are retail_   
_You need only attach the tags_   
_To make merchandise of your rags_

_Blessings and plagues descend upon the land_   
_Where are the gods to protect us?_

_\- Spin Doctors, "Beasts in the Woods"_

* * *

 

I consulted my map - a birthday gift from Farghan, one that he'd tucked into my bag while I wasn't looking. Typical of him, really. He wouldn't do anything if he couldn't do it quietly.

There was another village several miles down the Rauvin and across the valley from Hilltop.

The name on the map read, 'Blumberg'. It looked pretty similar to Hilltop – small, clustered on a hillside, maybe a little lower in altitude but that was fine by me. I liked sea level.

I lowered my map.

The Blumberg in front of me _might_ have looked like Hilltop at one point.

But I was pretty sure that, unless the mapmakers had left out a few key details, Blumberg _probably_ shouldn't have been on fire.

Great, greasy coils of black smoke rose above the ruined village. They desecrated the blue of the sky like a curse.

Deliberately, I rolled my map into a tight cylinder, slid it into its case, and tucked it away.

Then I spun around and kicked the nearest fencepost, hard.

The fence wobbled. I hopped on one foot and clutched at my throbbing toes. "Fuck," I hissed. Tears sprung to my eyes. "That hurt."

Xanos stared at the sky. His eyes were shadowed. "This place is a killing field," he said. His voice was devoid of emotion. "Its people have been slaughtered."

I glared at him. "Don't say that," I snapped. I put my foot down, gingerly. "They can't all be dead."

"No?" He gave me a sidelong glance. "Use your sight," he urged me.

I scowled at him. "All I see are houses," I said curtly. "The people could be hiding. You don't know that they're...that they're _dead_ -"

He shook his head. "Not that sight," he said. "The _other_ sight." He smirked. "If you are what Xanos thinks you are, it should come as naturally to you as breathing."

I looked at him, uncertain. "And what's that?" I asked harshly. "What do you think I am?"

He lifted an eyebrow coolly. "If you do not know, Xanos will not tell you," he said.

I felt my eyes widen. My blood pressure shot through the roof. "Well, in that case, you can go to hell," I spat.

Then I snatched up Silent Partner and strode away, fuming.

The air stank. It was sweet, like death-rot, and acrid, like burning flesh and hair.

I angled towards Blumberg. An inexplicable mess of mixed kobold and gnollish tracks had led us this far, and I couldn't turn around now - not until I'd looked for survivors and tried to figure out whether what had happened to Blumberg had anything to do with what had happened in Hilltop.

Along the way, I _seethed_. I should have left Xanos behind. Why didn't he just _tell_ me what he knew? Oh, no, he couldn't come out and say what was on his mind, he had to drop these smug little hints because of course he was the mighty and all-seeing _Xanos,_ who knew everything about everything and had an ego the size of the Goodyear fucking _blimp_.

He probably didn't even know anything. He was just messing with my head. Given how messed up _his_ head was, it was no surprise that he wanted to spread the misery around a little.

 _God damn it._ The next time he got hurt, he could rot, for all I cared. This was the last time I ditched my plans for some ugly-ass son of an orc berserker and a circus clown or whoever the hell his mother had been, just because he'd gone and gotten himself shot.

I crossed an open field just outside the village perimeter, still seeing red.

There was a fallen pine across my path. I moved to skirt around it.

Then I stopped and bent to peer at the broken trunk. There was something nigglingly weird about it.

The tree had been cut down with an axe – the cut was too smooth, too regular too have happened naturally. Sap wept from the freshly-split wood. It wasn't dead yet, but it was on its way out.

The pine had fallen on some winter shrubs. _Crowberry,_ I recollected, on seeing one of them. _Good for intestinal problems. Tastes, appropriately enough, like ass._ The plants and the tree were likely to be dead soon – the shrubs because the pine was crushing them and choking away their sun, and the tree because, well, it was in two separate pieces, and that was a hard state for most living things to be in and still keep on living.

It made me suddenly, irrationally angry. Farghan had shown me how to recognize lumberjacks' markings, and there was no such mark on this tree. It had just been cut down and left to rot. Sure, it was only a tree, not a person, but there was still something about the act that reeked of pointless barbarism to me.

I sniffed the air. Mostly, I just smelled pine sap, but there was some kind of rank stench insinuating itself into my sinuses. It was vaguely familiar.

Then, as the branches of the fallen tree burst open and sprouted a pair of hulking beasts, I managed to place the smell.

It was the smell of gnolls – half wet dog, half eye-watering musk, and all stink.

Also, the gnolls were right in front of me, and even _my_ not-so-keen observational skills could identify a gnoll from less than six feet away.

The nearest one peeled its lips back from its teeth, growled deep in its chest, and swung its halberd at my head.

I ducked instinctively. Then, after the halberd's shadow passed over me and away, I jumped hurriedly backwards, using Silent Partner to help me keep my balance when my feet slipped in the snow.

The gnolls laughed. It was an almost hooting bark of a laugh, like a hyena's. Then they followed me, their claws ripping gouges in the pine's bark as they climbed over it.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

I backed away nervously, holding the quarterstaff out of front of me in a horizontal guard. My hands shook on the staff's haft. I couldn't help but remember the first time I'd ever seen a gnoll. It had come close to killing both Harry and me, and even though I'd since fought illusionary gnolls in the practice barn, that had only been one at a time. Now there were two, and the second gnoll was sidling off in a way that I knew would lead to him flanking me. I'd seen Drogan's illusionary gnolls try _that_ little trick before, and I didn't like it one bit.

Now, if only I could keep these creatures from _moving,_ I'd be a lot happier and a little less inclined to piss my armor.

My eyes focused on the fallen tree and tangled shrubs.

City dweller though I was, I'd grown kind of fond of the local flora. From the way Farghan spoke, it was almost semi-aware, and I could believe it. He'd taught me to harvest only what I needed, and that as gently as I could, and then these things came along and not only did they try to kill _people_ but they felt the need to knock down trees as well, just for the hell of it.

Some of the shrubs had thorns. The pinesap was sticky, and the needles were sharp. I'd already seen Farghan coax other plants into entangling his foes...and if any plants were well-suited to a little karmic retribution, it would be these ones.

I felt a tingle rise into my throat. The leaves rustled in a sudden breeze.

I looked up at the gnolls. "Don't anybody move," I said, and the tension that had been building within me whipped up and out with my breath.

The shrubs unwound their thorn-laden branches and lashed out.

The gnolls looked surprised when the branches closed around their wrists and ankles, immobilizing. I couldn't blame them. I was pretty surprised, myself. I'd been _thinking_ that it would be nice if something like this would happen, but I hadn't actually _expected_ it to happen.

The gnolls looked even more surprised when the boughs of the pine heaved up and bashed them. One of the dog-men got a snout full of bark and needles. He yelped like a kicked chihuahua, a sound which I, personally, found immensely satisfying.

I heard a shout. A hissing stream of acid shot past me. "Don't hurt the plants!" I shouted, and I decided that I was quite probably insane. Only crazy people worried about the welfare of trees at a time like this.

Then the pine gave one last lurch and nailed a gnoll in the face, and I decided that if this was insanity, it wasn't so bad, after all.

On a sudden, wild impulse, I hefted Silent Partner and darted behind the nearest gnoll.

Just like that of the illusionary gnolls I'd fought, this one's armor was piecemeal, barely more than a few sheets of battered sheet metal strapped to his body, without so much as a layer of leather or cloth or chain beneath it. There were gaps in that armor, at the joints and the small of the back, where an enterprising opponent could jab a weapon right in.

Adrenaline surged through my veins. "Get down here where I can hit you, motherfucker!" I heard myself shout, and I rammed my quarterstaff into the unprotected back of the gnoll's knee.

I felt a strange buzzing in my hands, and the gnoll spasmed, letting out an animal cry of pain. Its legs buckled, and I smelled the distinctive odor of burning hair.

I dodged out of the way frantically. I wanted the bastard to fall. I didn't want it to fall on _me_.

The gnoll wrenched at the branches holding his wrists. They cracked and strained and started to break, but its head was down at my level now and I didn't much care that it was helpless and at my mercy, if only for the moment. The people it had killed had been helpless, too.

I swung Silent Partner. Its haft tingled under my hands, warm and almost alive.

The quarterstaff slammed into the gnoll's skull, and the writing on the staff's haft gave off a flash so bright and quick that I wasn't sure I'd even seen it. Then I felt a jolt travel through it and into the gnoll's body, and the creature let out an ear-splitting howl and fell into convulsions.

Blue-white light crackled over the gnoll's fur, and the stink of burning hair grew stronger.

And then, before I'd even gotten a grip on what was happening, the dog-man it out a gurgling sigh and sagged, smoke rising from its patchily scorched hide. Its body still spasmed jerkily, but its eyes were wide open and staring, and its tongue protruded from its mouth.

I backed away. From the corner of my eye, I saw the other gnoll go down in a gout of flame.

 _I killed it. I won._ I wanted to scream in exhilaration. I wanted to gibber in delayed terror. I wanted to throw up. I _didn't_ want to do all three at once, but I was afraid that I might end up doing just that.

Someone was shouting at me. Then they were shaking me, hands clamped on my shoulders like a pair of vises.

I began to pick words out of the haze that surrounded me. "Idiot!" someone bellowed. "Listen when Xanos speaks! Bah! Of all of the insolence! Does Xanos speak to the air? Snap out of it, you foolish woman!"

My teeth clacked together. I blinked and furrowed my forehead. "What?" Then my brain began working again, and I automatically raised Silent Partner to knock the arms restraining me aside. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I exclaimed. "Stop that, you jackass!"

Xanos backed off, glowering balefully. "And I suppose I should have left you to stand there like a statue until the rest of the gnolls found you and tore your head from your shoulders," he snarled.

I blinked again. "I didn't-"

He raised his voice and drowned me out. "Hah! And you are supposed to be an adventurer!" he chortled. "Have you never defeated an enemy before? Xanos has defeated several! How can you be so-"

I raised my voice to a shriek to be heard of him. "No!" I yelled. Xanos fell silent, and I stampeded into the opening his silence offered. "I never did! I never-" My voice trailed off. "I never killed anything," I muttered at last. I leaned on Silent Partner and ran my hands through my hair, grimacing as a few more locks came loose from my ponytail. Days like this, my hair was like nuclear proliferation – impossible to contain, despite my best intentions. "Just illusions."

The half-orc was silent for a moment longer. "This is no illusion," he said grimly.

The gnoll had stopped twitching. It still stank. "I know," I said. I sounded miserable, even to myself. I remembered the days when I'd thought this world was just a bad dream. I kind of wished that I could get those days back. It would be easier if I could believe this wasn't real, that I hadn't actually killed something. "Trust me. I know."

Xanos looked at me. "They would have killed you," he pointed out. He gestured at Blumberg. "They _did_ kill the people who lived here."

I stared at the corpse. "Yeah," I said. "But…"

The half-orc's snort was dismissive. "It is a waste of energy to mourn the death of vermin," he said gruffly. "Do not be a fool. Do as Xanos does. Conserve your resources for other battles."

In a weird way, that was almost comforting. It was certainly practical. "That sounds like you expect more fights like this," I said.

He gave me a look that was as old and weary as the mountains, though his face was unlined and he couldn't have been much older than I was - if he was any older at all. "Get used to it," he said. "It is the nature of these things."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I am discovering that writing around a canon plot and still making it not-boring is *hard*. I've rewritten this chapter about a million times, and it still feels awkward. I did use a lot of in-game dialogue, which I normally don't like doing, but I enjoyed our big white friend's in-game dialogue, so...bit of a catch-22 there.
> 
> Anyway, if anyone's got input on what doesn't work here and how to make it work better, I'm all ears.

 

_Mister Paganini, please play my rhapsody_  
And if you cannot play it, won't you sing it  
And if you can't sing it, you simply have to  
  
swing it  
  
_\- Ella Fitzgerald, "(If You Can't Sing It) You'll Have to Swing It"_   


* * *

Scales scraped against ice-rimed stone.

_Why the_ fuck _did I let that kobold talk me into this?_ I wondered, not for the first time and hopefully not for the last. _Why didn't I just slip something into Xanos's tea and run for the hills? Why?_ My teeth chattered violently.

"Well, well, well," a rumbling voice snaked from the blue-white haze. Claws crunched into ice. "What have we here?"

I was shivering too much to answer, so Xanos did it for me. The half-orc drew himself up haughtily. His skin looked almost gray in the icy half-light. "Xanos has come to grant you an audience," he announced, a little too loudly. "He has heard of your troubles, and with the help of his assistant, here, he will now lend you his wisdom in resolving them."

I would have brained him with my quarterstaff, if I weren't shivering so hard. As it was, I hissed, "Shut up!" out of the corner of my mouth, and I turned to where I thought the dragon was, hoping to maybe salvage the situation before the monster ate the both of us. Failing that, I'd have settled for squirting some ketchup on Xanos and running.

I froze. Bone-chilling terror seeped through my veins.

A looming figure was taking shape, emerging from the haze. It was big, and white, and it moved like a tiger through dry grass.

"Hmmm," murmured a resonant voice. "Is that so?" A sleek white head took shape from the chilly mist. One massive yellow eye turned towards the half-orc, who looked like he'd been frozen in place as surely as I had been. "You are suggesting that I am to be advised by a half-orc with such bad taste in clothing?" The dragon chuckled, showing the curve of a fang against his lipless maw. "What services do you offer, little half-orc? Not fashion advice, certainly. Catering, perhaps?"

Xanos stiffened. "I will not be judged by an overgrown lizard that lives in a cave!" he barked. "Xanos is beyond your puny understanding, dragon!"

The dragon snorted, exhaling a puff of icy vapor. It settled on Xanos's pitch black eyebrows and hair, giving him a sugar-frosted look. "Mind your manners, little one," Tymofarrar said mildly. "I've never found that poor taste equaled poor taste, if you get my meaning. Still," he mused, "There _is_ all of that orcish blood to get past."

Xanos jerked back to life. "Are you suggesting that you would eat the great Xanos?!" he said incredulously.

The dragon recoiled slightly. "Ugh," he said distastefully. "Not unless I had to, that's for certain." His eye turned towards me. He was so close that I could see the cold pouring off of his scales like steam, and I could see my reflection in that huge, reptilian iris. I looked very small and very pale. "And what else have we, hmm? A human woman, I see, and it seems that she has a bad case of the tremors." The dragon let out a resonant sigh. "How common," he said lethargically, "Though she is much easier on the eyes than you are, half-orc. Not that this is saying much. Tell me, what brings you here, warmling female? Are you truly this garish fellow's assistant? That would be very disappointing, I think."

I swayed slightly. "N-no," I said unsteadily. "I'm not. I'm out of his price range." I craned my neck and looked up at the dragon. He had a long, sinuous neck, and his scales were as white as new snow, their edges glittering with a blueish sheen. "Um," I said then, stupidly. In my defense, I couldn't quite believe I was actually in a dragon's lair. Part of me kept hopefully insisting that maybe I was still in the practice barn, and this was only an illusion. "Y-you really are a dragon, aren't you? I'm not imagining things, am I?"

The dragon tilted his head. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, knocking me back a step. "My goodness, what keen observational skills you have! I would have expected you to be quite blind, given your companion's taste in attire." Then he inclined his head, regarding me from the corners of those great golden eyes. "No, you are not imagining things. My name is Tymofarrar, little warmling," he told me, and his forked tongue flickered out from between his teeth, as purple as a bruise. "You may, of course, add on "the White", "the Magnificent" or any other appellation which you feel matches my grandeur."

"Oh." I thought about it. I was aware that I wasn't in my right mind, but I couldn't seem to shake off this sense of floaty-headed unreality. I decided to just go with the flow. "Well, T-tymofarrar the W-white, w-would you mind stepping b-back a bit? It's just that my face is starting to go n-numb, and it's making it hard to t-talk."

The dragon blinked. Then he laughed, a low, delighted laugh that I felt through the vibrations in the stone beneath my feet more than I heard it. "Very well," he said, and stepped back with a dip of his horned head. The dragon settled to his haunches, folding his wings almost daintily and curling his tail around himself. "I will humor you, warmling. It would be remiss of me to freeze a guest – and so soon, before we have even had a chance to get to know one another."

I couldn't hide a sigh of relief. "You're friendlier than I expected," I remarked. That much was true. Drogan had warned me that dragons were as likely to eat me as speak with me.

"Mmh." Tymofarrar blinked slowly, catlike. "Would you like to hear a secret, little warmling?" He sighed heavily. "I am bored," he admitted. "My kobolds are adequate servants, but they are so damnably _dull_ , and their intrigues are so puerile. I must confess that you two warmlings are the most entertaining creatures to have entered my lair in quite some time. Depressing, is it not?"

"Oh, Xanos is _so_ glad to be of service," my companion muttered.

"Yes, yes, I am sure." The dragon cocked his head, studying me with idle interest. "So, what brings a half-orc mageling and a servant of the divine to my lair?" the dragon asked in bored tones. "Do tell, warmlings. Have you truly come to bask in my glory, or was there something else you wanted?"

The words were out almost before they'd left my brain. "For the last time, I am _not_ a servant of the divine," I said testily. "Why does everyone keep acting as if I am?" Then I sucked in a breath and mentally slapped myself. _Don't be insolent to dragons, Rebecca, how many times has Drogan told you that?_ I screamed at myself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Tymofarrar blinked at me. Then he began to chortle, seemingly unoffended by my little slip. "Oh, how rich!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me that you are not even aware of it?" He flicked his tail, still chuckling. "How amusing. In fact, it is so amusing that I will even share my superior knowledge with you. You may consider it a reward, of a sort."

I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding and gave Xanos a sidelong glance. He returned it blandly, his face completely uninformative, which only made me more irritable.

I was aware that the combination of nerves and anger was deadly. I spoke anyway, because I was too jittery to stop myself. "So what is this secret that everyone knows but me?" I asked. "B-believe me, I want to hear this. What is it? Do I have a holy symbol tattooed on my forehead?"

"Not exactly," Tymofarrar said sagely. "Or rather, only those of, shall we say, a magical disposition will be sensitive enough to the energies to, ha-ha, _divine_ your true nature." Tymofarrar's eyes slitted smugly. He seemed pleased with his own pun. "Your god has shown you great favor, little warmling - he has changed you subtly, body and soul, so that your frail mortal shell could bear a burden of power which it was never meant to bear," he told me. He must have seen something in my expression, because he went on, "Oh, yes. Do not look so surprised. You bear only a fraction of a fraction of your god's power, of course, and you are so poorly attuned to it that you present no threat to a being of my puissance – but it is there, beating within your chest like a second heart." He examined me critically. "I _do_ hope that you have not come here to preach," he added. "An orc convert to Cyric has already attempted to proselytize me." One of the dragon's foretalons tapped thoughtfully against the permafrost. "I believe he is still in a block of ice somewhere around here."

My mind had gone flat with a strange mix of rage and confusion. "I'm going to have to have a long talk with the god in question," I said at last, my voice flat and my teeth clenched. "I didn't ask for this."

"Oh?" Tymofarrar sounded only mildly curious. "How strange. What _did_ you ask for?"

_A way home._ "A portal," I said. "Or the way to it."

The dragon gazed at me in benign interest. "My goodness! I sense the beginnings of a tale," he remarked jovially. "Do go on, warmling. I am all agog."

I hesitated. Made confident by the dragon's apparent hospitality, I protested, "I'd rather not-"

Tymofarrar lifted his head and looked down his long, bone-white nose at me. "I do not think you understand, warmling," he said in his urbane, resonant voice, and the undercurrent of menace in that voice reached down into the most primal centers of my brain and flipped the switch labeled 'mortal terror'. "I am not asking. Or have you forgotten? It is you who have invaded my domain, slain my servants, and," he paused, and sniffed at the air, his nostrils flaring like a pair of jet intakes,"-from the smell of it, you have also loosed my cattle from their pens. All of this leaves me with a mess to clean up, and leaves _you_ in an awkward position." The dragon lowered his head to eye level. "Now," he purred. "Tell me your tale, or I will grow bored of this game and end it however I please. Do you understand me, warmling?"

I wondered if I would even notice if I wet my pants in this place. It was so cold that the pee might just freeze instantly, and I wouldn't notice a thing until I left the caves and began to thaw. _If_ I left. "T-that's a pretty hard bargain," I heard myself say. The hammering of my heart nearly drowned out my own voice in my ears.

"We dragons do enjoy a good negotiation," Tymofarrar admitted. He folded his forepaws delicately and rested his chin on them, regarding me with indolent amusement. "Now, do not make me ask again, warmling. What is your tale?"

I looked at Xanos again. The half-orc nodded at me urgently, barely taking his eyes off of the dragon. _Tell him, before he kills us,_ he seemed to be saying, but that wasn't what I wanted. What I wanted was for Xanos not to be here, because I didn't want him _or_ Tymofarrar knowing so much about my past.

I didn't want it, but I was afraid that the price of refusing would be a crunch and red pain followed by sudden death, and that was definitely not how I wanted to leave Toril.

I turned back to Tymofarrar and blew out a breath. "Fine," I said, and right then I was so angry about being forced into this that, for just a moment, I forgot to be afraid.

Some spark of the old me came back – the same me that had gotten the worst bastard in the city re-elected by placing the right phone calls to the right people and finding a way to tell the public that black was white and night was day. "But it's a long story," I added, "And I want your guarantee that you'll answer a few questions of mine at the end of it."

"Oh, is that the way of it, then?" Tymofarrar's wings folded in what seemed to be the draconic version of a shrug. "Very well then, warmling. You will have your answers. Now speak."

I did. I gave Tymofarrar – and Xanos, who was obviously listening although he was trying hard not to look like he was listening – the edited version of my story, because the last thing I wanted was to inform a dragon that there was a world somewhere that had never seen dragons before, and was probably ripe for the pickings.

I told them about the heiress from some unnamed city, her doting daddy, the evil stepmother, and the god who'd started my downhill slide.

_"Some of your losses came from misfortune,"_ I remembered Shaundakul's words. _"Some of them came from mistakes of your own making."_

I always ran away when the going got tough. I'd run away from my dreams because they hadn't turned out the way I thought they would. Then I'd run away from the shambles of my former life. And now I wanted to run away from all of this.

Running was what I did. Sometimes I wondered if I did it a little too well.

I told Tymofarrar of my decision to follow Shaundakul through the portal, and my subsequent wandering. I told him about the mute Ilmatari who had taught me so much, and the gnomish alchemist who'd let us hitch a ride with his caravan, though neither of them had ever really asked for anything in return.

I didn't tell him about Harry's senseless death, because I didn't want the memory of my friend to be dirtied by this dragon's ears – or whatever he used to hear with, anyway. I told him, instead, of my hunt up and down the Evermoor Way with Magda, looking for Kelavir Tarn so that I might find out what he knew of a man whose feet didn't touch the ground.

And then I told him of my climb to the altar in the Lost Peaks, and what I'd found there at last.

"He touched me," I said, lifting my fingers to the place on my forehead where the memory of that touch still sometimes burned. I didn't tell Tymofarrar that Shaundakul had kissed my forehead like my father might have, if dad were still alive. The dragon didn't need to know that. "And then he said he'd give me a gift." He'd filled my brain with white-hot fire, and nothing had really been the same since. "And then…I'm not sure. I remember losing consciousness. And when I woke up again, something had changed."

Tymofarrar had gone still, seemingly engrossed by my story. "Fascinating," he said. "And did you find the answers you sought?"

I remembered. "I thought I had," I said. "But then he left. I figured he'd decided to break his bargain."

This seemed to strike Tymofarrar as funny. "Well, the ways of the gods are often strange," he chuckled. "However, I would not discount the possibility that he has kept his bargain in a way you may not have anticipated."

I snorted. The retelling had left me drained of everything, including fear. Now I was just light-headed and tired. "He told me that he would get me home," I said. "I'm nowhere near."

"If you do not know the location of this portal of yours, how do you know that you are not drawing closer to it by the day?" the dragon argued.

I blinked. I'd never even thought of it that way. "I guess I don't," I said slowly.

Tymofarrar blinked smugly. "There, do you see?" he said. "My vast intellect has solved your little problem. Do not worry, warmling. Your story was entertaining enough that I will not ask for compensation for my services." He looked at me curiously. "Is that why you have come here?" he asked. "Are you seeking the way to a portal, and have heard so many tales of the great Tymofarrar's intellectual prowess that you have come to ask his aid?"

I was trying to formulate a diplomatic response to that when Xanos barged in. "No," he said proudly. "We have come to retrieve the artifacts which you stole from Hilltop."

_Shit._ "Xanos," I hissed urgently. "Stow it."

The half-orc scowled at me. "All of this pointless chatter tries my patience," he snapped. "If you will not get down to business, perhaps it falls to Xanos to extract information from this lizard."

_And the only way you're going to get anything from him is if you play along and stroke his ego,_ I thought. _It doesn't matter what he's done. He could have stolen your sister's panties, but if you confront him about it all he'll do is shut you down until you've apologized for daring to accuse him a being a pervert._

I thought all of that, but I didn't say it. What I _did_ say was, "I've done this before, Xanos," and that was actually true. I'd dealt with some of the biggest egos in the city. Hell - if I wanted to be honest, I had _been_ one of the biggest egos in the city. I knew all about double-speak and babying fragile egos, and from what Master Drogan had taught me, dragons were _all_ about ego. I didn't like it, but I _knew_ it, and suddenly, I felt more confident than I had in a very long time. "Trust me."

He didn't, I could tell, but he shut up, which was what was really important.

I turned to Tymofarrar. "I apologize for my colleague's tone," I said. I glanced at Xanos, then lowered my voice and added confidingly, "He hasn't been the same since that experiment went sour on him. You know how it is with us."

The dragon gave me an appraising look. "Indeed," he purred. "Your grasp of the magical arts is so limited. I do not know how you can hope to achieve true mastery. Ah, well. I suppose it is none of my concern, anyway." He sighed. A new layer of frost blossomed on the floor beneath his feet. "I must say that this entire business with the artifacts has been rather irritating," he admitted glumly. "I never really needed them to begin with, and acquiring them has been more difficult than I would have liked."

It was cold-blooded, the way he spoke of something that had ended in my teacher getting stabbed in the kidneys. I swallowed my anger, shoving it down as far as I could. _Come on,_ I told myself. _You've dealt with plenty of cold-blooded bastards in your time, girl. Don't let it get to you. Focus._ "I'm surprised," I said, as innocently as I could. "Four artifacts and a dwarf? How can that have been a challenge to you, mighty Tymofarrar?"

Tymofarrar drew himself up. "Of course it was no challenge," he said huffily, and his tail lashed, taking down a small stalagmite. "My plan went off without a hitch – until that _witch_ betrayed our agreement!"

Now _this_ was interesting. "Who?" I asked, leaning forward. "Who would be dumb enough to double-cross you?"

The dragon bared his long, curving fangs. "J'Nah," he snarled. "How the mere name of that creature fills me with bile!" His tail took down another stalagmite. "The sheer audacity!" The vibrations of his roar made the cavern hum. "The temerity! It is an affront to my draconic stature, I tell you!"

His ranting went on for several more minutes, during which time I kept looking up nervously. The stalactites were quivering, and I didn't want one of them to fall on my head.

Eventually, though, Tymofarrar came around to the point.

This J'Nah had contacted the dragon to make an offer he couldn't refuse. She was the one who had learned about the artifacts, not he, and she'd asked for his help in retrieving them.

"All she desired in return for her aid, she claimed, was a single artifact," Tymofarrar explained. "The rest I could keep for myself."

I crossed my fingers. "What was that?"

The dragon shrugged. His wings rustled like a pair of sails. "A statue of a tower, I believe," he said indifferent. "I imagine now that it is the only artifact with any real worth." He narrowed his eyes. "I agreed to her terms, and found out after my kobolds returned from the raid that her gnolls had _dared_ to attack them! She tried to take all the artifacts for herself!"

I frowned thoughtfully. _That_ explained Blumberg and the dead gnolls outside the elven tomb, and a lot of other things besides. "So now she has all of them?"

The dragon waved a foretalon negligently. "All, I suppose, save a useless mask, which remains in my possession," he said in bored tones. "But that is irrelevant." His eyes narrowed. "I am a dragon," he said haughtily. "And I will not allow myself to be tricked by a mere lesser being. The fact that she attacked my minions only proves her deceitful intent."

_But you_ were _tricked. And now you're angry about it._ That wasn't my concern, though. What was important was that the dragon had the mask, and I wanted it. He also had the key to getting the tower, and I wanted that, too. "Why don't we talk about that mask?" I said smoothly. "If it's so useless to you, I might be willing to take it off of your hands. For a price."

The dragon's golden eyes gleamed. "Oh, but your tone betrays you, warmling," he said tauntingly. "That is why you are here, is it not? You wish to have those artifacts back, and that means that the mask has more value to you than it does to me."

"It has no value to you," I pointed out. "And there lots of numbers that are greater than zero. I could mention a few that I'm sure you'll find agreeable."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. The fact remains that if you want the mask, you must pay my price – whatever that is." His chuckle was low and deep and full of dark amusement. "Unless, of course, you would like to try to take the mask from me by force," he added. "I would not recommend it. We are having so much fun here, little warmling. It has been so long since I have encountered a sentient who is not screaming in abject terror. I would hate to have to kill you."

I swallowed. "I'd hate to have to die," I said weakly.

"Well, then. We seem to be at an impasse."

I gave ground grudgingly. "Fine. What kind of number did you have in mind?"

"What I had in mind was no number."

I felt a cynical smile curl the corners of my lips. I knew this little dance. It was an old familiar waltz, and this time I wasn't the lead. "So it's a favor you want," I said grimly.

"Very good. Yes, warmling, I ask a favor. Will you listen to my proposal?"

I didn't see that I had much of a choice. "All right. I'm listening."

The dragon inclined his scaly head, pleased. "There is a saying amongst dragons, warmling. It goes thus: 'Sweet as blood, rich as flame, rarer than gold this deadly game.' Do you know what it speaks of?"

Xanos stirred. "Revenge," he spoke up, his voice filled with sudden comprehension. "You speak of revenge."

Tymofarrar nodded. "Very good," he said approvingly. "Revenge, indeed." He looked down on me almost benevolently, and said, "I desire vengeance upon J'Nah. Kill her for me, warmling, and you shall be reward."

My jaw dropped. "You want me to _what_?" I yelped. "Are you-"

Xanos shifted slightly, and before I could finish my sentence, I felt his fingers bite into my arm, a wordless caution. It surprised me – Xanos never touched anyone if he could help it, or allowed them into his personal space. The fact that he was doing so now probably meant that he really wanted to communicate something – probably something like, "He's willing to negotiate. Don't ruin it and make him want to eat us." More or less.

I closed my mouth. I backpedaled, and lined my thoughts up so that I wouldn't stumble. It had always helped in front of the cameras, and it helped me here, too. "Are you sure that you don't want to kill her yourself?" I said instead. If I didn't actually think about what I was saying, it almost made sense. "After all, where's the satisfaction in that?"

"Ahhh, now that is an excellent question," Tymofarrar mused. His talons flexed, biting into the ice ground. "I imagine I very well could do such a thing... hunt down the little villainess and exact my revenge _personally_." He hissed the word with relish. Then he paused. "J'Nah, however, has... superiors," he added delicately. "Superiors who wield a great deal of power. I would rather not anger them, if I can avoid it."

_So you want a dead enemy but don't want to risk your ass - so you'll risk mine, instead, because it won't cost you a thing. I get it._ Tymofarrar was reminding me more and more of my old boss back on Earth. The comparison wasn't flattering, although I supposed that Tymofarrar had one major advantage – he wasn't likely to be found boning high-priced hookers anytime soon.

It was bizarre. I was in a cavern so cold that I could practically see my breath crystallizing in the air, I was talking to a giant superintelligent lizard who could probably tear my head off with one snap of his jaws, and yet it had been a long time since I had felt so much in my element.

_I guess you can get used to anything,_ I mused. _Soon enough he'll be running for mayor of Hilltop, and I'll be managing his campaign. "Tymofarrar for Mayor," we'll say. "Vote for him and he might not eat you."_

_Hmm. We're going to need a bigger town hall._

I spoke slowly, trying to fit all of the pieces together in my head. "Who are these superiors?" I asked.

Tymofarrar shrugged. "I do not know for certain," he said. "I can only suspect."

"Why don't you share your suspicions?"

"Because to share my information might compromise my sources. I am sure that you understand."

I did. In the news business or in intrigue, sources were everything. I abandoned that line of questioning, for the time being. "With all due respect," I said, a line which always had an unspoken 'you asshole' tagged on the end in political speak but hopefully didn't mean the same thing to Tymofarrar, "Why should I risk my life for an artifact which you yourself have said is useless?"

He gave me a lazy, toothy grin. "You may have a point," he conceded with surprising candor. "What else would you like, warmling? Gold? Magic? Ask, and I will provide, for this service would indeed be worth more to me than a mere mask."

I couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. "I ran into a servant of yours," I said. "A little kobold by the name of Deekin."

The dragon perked up, shedding some of his air of smug indolence. "Oh?" he asked, a note of curiosity entering his voice. "And where has my wayward protégé run off to this time?"

I shrugged. "I can't say that I know," I said blandly.

Tymofarrar didn't miss my little dodge. "Cannot?" he asked. "Or will not?" Then he shrugged. "Not that it matters. Keep your information, if you wish. I will track little Deekin down eventually – it is of no great concern."

"It is to him." The little lizard had been terrified. I'd had to pry him off of my leg and feed him a cup of chamomile tea before he could even talk about Tymofarrar, and even then I'd been worried that he might faint, or collapse, or something. My knowledge of herb lore only covered the usual humanoid races – humans, elves, dwarves, and so forth. I had no idea what effect my remedies would have on a kobold's metabolism, and I'd hate to have killed the poor little guy – especially before finding out what he knew about all of this. "He wants to be free of your service."

Tymofarrar surprised me with a laugh. "Ahhhh, poor Deekin," he sighed. He sounded almost affectionate. "For such a little kobold he has very big dreams," the dragon went on. "Very foolish dreams, to be sure, but dreams nonetheless. I should never have sent him away." He sighed again. "Very well," he said, and lowered his head, snaking it down on his long, gooselike neck to bring his great golden eyes down to my level. "If you will perform this service for me, I promise that I will free Deekin from his servitude and give you the mask, as you have asked. There. I am being quite generous, I think. Do we have a deal?"

I exchanged looks with Xanos. The half-orc lifted one burly shoulder in a dubious shrug.

I turned back to Tymofarrar and took a deep breath. "I guess we do," I said.

"Excellent!" The dragon extended one scythe-like foretalon. I took it gingerly. We shook.

Then Tymofarrar leaned forward conspiratorially. "Now," he said with eager, bright-eyed malice. "Let me tell you how to find the witch."


	18. Chapter 18

 

_Oh, I'm not aware of too many things_   
_I know what I know, if you know what I mean_   
_Philosophy is a walk on the slippery rocks_   
_Religion is a light in the fog_   
_I'm not aware of too many things_   
_I know what I know, if you know what I mean, d-doo yeah_

_Choke me in the shallow water_   
_Before I get too deep_

_What I am is what I am_   
_Are you what you are or what?_   
_What I am is what I am_   
_Are you what you are or what?_

_\- Edie Brickell & The New Bohemians, "What I Am"_

* * *

 

For once in perfect agreement, Xanos and I made camp in a shallow depression that didn't even deserve to be called a cave. It was far enough away from Tymofarrar's lair to be comfortable, but not so far that we'd have to travel through the mountains at night.

We ate in silence, gnawing unenthusiastically at strips of jerky and washing them down with water. Then we wordlessly rolled ourselves into our cloaks and devoted ourselves to trying to sleep.

Rocks dug into the small of my back. Gravel got into my hair, and I kept having to huddle further and further into my cloak to avoid the worst of the grit and dirt.

I tossed and turned. So, on the other side of our little camp, did Xanos.

Then, when it became obvious that neither of us was going to sleep without assistance, I got up without a word and made us both a cup of something to calm our nerves – not the stuff I'd given Xanos, but a milder mix, just enough to get us both to stop tossing and turning.

I'd never been so happy that Harry had chosen to introduce me to the world of medicinal herbs. Sometimes life needed a little pharmaceutical help to make it bearable. This was one of those times.

Xanos took the tea and drank it. I was still surprised that he was willing to trust me like that, especially after the last time I'd brewed something for him. Maybe he didn't know what I'd done. Maybe he'd just attributed his deep sleep that night to exhaustion and injury. Either way, I felt like I'd dodged a bullet when, if there'd been any justice in the world, I should've been standing up against a wall with a blindfold and a cigarette.

The next morning, Xanos and I pulled our hoods up and jogged through the snow, shielding our faces against the biting winter wind. He was still limping slightly, though he was moving a lot better than he had been a few days ago.

We didn't talk. The silence stretched out for miles. I was okay with that.

Then Xanos ruined it. "Your bargaining was weak," he said critically. "Xanos could have done better."

I rounded on him, holding up a warning finger. "Oh, no," I said darkly. "Don't _even_ start with me."

I caught a glimpse of his nonplussed expression before I turned back to the slope. "Xanos is merely-"

I didn't look back at him. My nostrils flared. "You knew," I said, my voice tight with anger. "You _knew_ , and you didn't tell me."

At least the sorcerer didn't add insult to injury by asking me to clarify what I meant. "No one told Xanos what was happening when he first displayed his own powers," he snapped.

I stopped again. "And?" I demanded. "What does that have to do with the price of tea in Ch-" I stopped. "Damn it," I said instead, fervently. I'd been about to let my origins slip _again_. I regrouped. "So nobody helped you. Now you're going to get back at the world by letting me stumble around blind, huh? Is that it?"

Now _his_ nostrils flared. "Why should you receive the benefit of the wisdom which Xanos has worked so hard to accrue?" he roared at me. Then he turned away, throwing his hands into the air. "Bah! You are human. Worse yet, you are a noblewoman! A pampered heiress! You have no idea of the struggles Xanos has faced-

Anger surged. "Oh, don't give me that!" I yelled. I marched forward, put my hands on my hips, and glared up at him hotly. "They say that money can't buy happiness, and then they turn around and tell you that your life can't possibly be shit, because, hey, you're rich! Everyone expected me to smile and look pretty for the cameras and pretend that everything was fine, because they just can't believe that someone who's got everything everyone _else_ thinks they ever wanted could possibly be missing something!" I leaned in and shouted in his face - or, at least, up _at_ his face. "Well, screw you! I've lost it all, I've had to watch the people I loved die, and then I spent months wandering the Sword Coast looking for a way home just to end up schlepping through these goddamned mountains with a mouthy jerkoff like you who can't even admit when he's wrong!"

His eyes bulged. "And Xanos spent months wandering alone in the wilderness, never knowing where his next meal would come from or if he would even live long enough to gain enough power to make those ignorant fools in his village regret ever casting him out!" he bellowed. "Do not tell me that you have known hardship, you cursed woman! You do not even know the meaning of the word!"

I blinked. I lowered my hand. "They threw you out?" I asked incredulously.

The half-orc's face froze. "They were afraid," he snarled.

"Of what?" I didn't get it. I could definitely see why someone would want to kick him repeatedly in the shin, but not why they'd be afraid of him. Despite all of his histrionics and insults, he'd never actually laid a finger on me - hadn't laid a finger on _anyone,_ as far as I could tell. "Were they afraid that you'd accidentally set their hair on fire?"

If I thought his expression had been shut down before, now it was locked away in a bank vault and he'd thrown away the key. "That," he said curtly. "And more." And then he walked away.

I trotted through the snow after him. We were going in the same direction, anyway, and his big, stomping boots left an easy trail for me to follow. "What more is there than setting them on fire?" I persisted. I probably shouldn't have pushed it, but I was curious. "I mean, that sounds pretty bad all by itself."

He threw a boiling black glare over his shoulder. "For you humans, being less than human is more than reason enough," he hissed.

I snorted. "Bullshit."

He stopped abruptly. "What?" he asked blankly, staring ahead of him.

"You're not less than human," I said, half of my attention on what I was saying and half of it on negotiating the steep incline. Even with Xanos clearing the path, there were bumps and rocks under the snow, and I'd already slipped a few times. I didn't want a sprained ankle on top of my delightful mixed assortment of lacerations and bruises. Adventuring, I decided, was like a box of chocolates – you never knew what was going to carve holes in you next. "You're a smarmy, overbearing jerk, and you're so full of hot air that I'm amazed you don't float like a goddamned balloon," I went on. "But you're not less than human."

He gave a strange hitch of his shoulders. "Xanos is half human."

"Yeah, well, where I come from, some people used to be considered three-fifths of a human."

He grunted. He still wasn't looking at me. "That is a strange fraction."

"It was a strange time."

I caught up with him. He started to slog ahead, his eyes to the ground. He seemed to be able to discern tracks in the snow where I only saw indecipherable little pockmarks in a whole lot of equally indecipherable white. "You said that it used to be so," he remarked. "What happened?"

I shrugged. "Our society grew up a little. Not much, I'll grant you-" My pack gave a little twitch, and I stopped. "Hang on a minute," I told my half-orc companion. "Belpheron's talking."

Tymofarrar's directions and Xanos's eyes were a part of what guided us. Belpheron was the rest of it. The mummified hand seemed to have a vested interest in finding the artifacts it had been stored with, and every so often, it woke up and pointed insistently. Since it seemed to be pointing in a direction that agreed with all of the information we'd gotten so far, we paid attention to what the hand told us.

This time, it crawled determinedly through the snow to the crest of the hill. Then it sidled in a circle, crablike, until it was pointing south.

I looked. I saw the river to the west of us, the valley to the south, and beyond that, the dark wall of an evergreen forest.

I walked forward and stooped to pick up the mummified hand. "Thanks," I told it. Then I shook the snow off of it and stuck it back in my back. No use having hysterics over the fact that I was taking directions from a severed hand, I figured. I might as well just consider it a very creepy navigational system.

"So. The High Forest," Xanos said.

My mouth twisted. "Yeah," I said.

He looked at me sidelong. "We need not necessarily kill the sorceress," he suggested obliquely.

My skin crawled. "I didn't really plan to kill her," I said.

"You believe that it is wise to talk to her first?"

"It's always wise to talk first. It means we might not have to fight, and I _like_ not fighting. I'm _all_ for not fighting." I ran a hand through my hair, pushing back a few loose strands. "Besides, she obviously knows more than Tymofarrar does about what's going on."

Xanos's expression turned thoughtful. "Unless the dragon is concealing his true knowledge."

I frowned thoughtfully. "He's too smug," I said at last. "If he knew something, he'd brag about it so that we warmlings could all be suitably impressed by his 'vast intellect'." I probably should have resisted making my next dig. But I didn't. "He's kind of like you in that regard."

"Whereas you are as headstrong as an ox and refuse to heed advice unless the giver first kisses your perfect little feet," Xanos returned nastily.

I scowled at him. He scowled back.

We slogged on through the snow and didn't speak again until nightfall.


	19. Chapter 19

Talking to J'Nah was turning out to be a lot trickier than I'd expected.

"You say that this kobold slave of Tymofarrar's has the tower statue," J'Nah said. Her pale eyes looked me up and down critically. "But he has broken it? Hmm. Well, if he has all of the pieces, that should not be an issue." She looked at me pensively. "Tell me where he is," she ordered abruptly, and smiled. That is to say, the corners of her mouth turned up. Her eyes didn't change. "I will retrieve the artifact, and if it is truly what you say it is, I will allow you to leave here unharmed."

My eyes darted to the men on either side of me – pale elves with empty black eyes and long, curving blades. I licked my dry lips, not even trying to hide my nerves. They were bubbling out in all directions - hiding them would have needed a bucket, a mop, and an industrial-sized roll of plastic wrap. "I don't think that will work," I said hoarsely. "Deekin has it hidden. He won't give it up-"

J'Nah smiled. I thought I saw a flicker of red in her irises. I hoped that it was just a trick of the light. I really did. "He will," she said. "If he values his life."

I thought of the kobold. He'd been crouching and apologetic and fearful, but he hadn't given up the location of the tower statue, no matter how Xanos had threatened or I had wheedled.

I thought of Deekin, cowering under J'Nah's cold eyes, and I wondered why I'd even brought the subject up.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Three artifacts were better than one, and that was better than the none we would bring back if J'Nah killed us.

I didn't like the look of the sorceress. She had the long, pointed ears and delicate features of an elf, but her skin was a feverish blue-white, and her eyes were the color of mercury.

There was something about her that made my skin crawl. Maybe it was her unnatural pallor, or maybe it was the way she studied me – as if a squeaking cockroach had scuttled into her domain, and she was debating whether she'd be better off stepping on me or poisoning me.

I needed to divert her from Deekin. He'd frustrated me, sure, but being frustrating wasn't enough of a sin to have a surprise like J'Nah dropped on your head. "And if he doesn't tell you where he's hidden it?" I asked. "Don't discount that. He's pretty stubborn."

She arched her pale eyebrows, plainly skeptical. "Do you suggest an alternative?"

"Deekin agreed to give up the location of the artifact in exchange for his freedom from Tymofarrar." I tried to make myself as small as possible while not being obvious about it, to edge away from those bared swords I could just see from the corners of my eyes. "I…I think Tymofarrar might be willing to grant it, if we can only-"

The sorceress's eyes glinted strangely. "The treacherous wyrm!" she spat, and a current of anger rippled through her smooth voice. She took a step forward, her eyes burning. "Has he sent you here? He has, has he not? What is it that he wants?" She laughed, musically, at the expression on my face. "My blood? Is that it? Well, _human_ , what do you intend?" she asked mockingly. "Do you plan to carry out your master's wishes? I warn you, it will not be as easy as he would have you believe."

I swallowed. I didn't like the way she said _human_. She said it in the way that I might have said _maggot_. But neither did I like the idea of threatening her, not with all of that live steel near me and the look of cold, cold malice in her eyes. Tymofarrar had been much bigger, but he hadn't been this terrifyingly unpredictable.

I hoped that Xanos was still hidden. He'd grumbled about not being the one to negotiate with J'Nah, but I'd told him that unless he could teach me how to both turn myself invisible and how to work that token we'd gotten from that damned, mephit-infested maze, we were stuck with him as backup. He'd agreed, surprisingly. Maybe it was because, as long as he was invisible, he still had a chance to get out if things went sour. Everyone else would be too busy trying to kill _me_.

That thought wasn't even remotely comforting. "W-wait," I stammered. "Let me explain. Yes, he does want you dead, but if we can fool him, show him something he'll take as proof-"

She frowned thoughtfully. "You suggest a ruse," she said slowly.

My voice was shaky with relief. "Yes," I said. "If we can just make him _think_ you're dead-"

She was already shaking her head. "I took you for a fool," she said mildly. "But even one of the lesser races must know that a dragon can smell a lie. It will not work."

_Lesser races_ was even worse than _human,_ as far as derogatory expletives went. My eyes narrowed. "If you have any other ideas-"

"As a matter of fact, I do." She smiled at me, predatory and unconcerned. "This kobold – Deekin, did you say? – will be released from his master's service on his master's death. That is the only way. Tymofarrar does not just set his servants free."

_Really? He was willing to free Deekin if I killed you._ I didn't follow her reasoning, but I was pretty sure that I was smelling a lie, myself. "So?" I asked.

"So, we will achieve the same result if you kill Tymofarrar."

My mouth went dry. "Kill…" My words trailed off. I looked at her. "You must be joking," I said. "I can't-"

She spoke over me smoothly. "Of course, I will give you something to make it easier to slay the dragon," she said soothingly, and smiled her false smile. "Do not think that I would send you into his lair unarmed. And then, once the deed is done, I will even reward you – with this tooth, perhaps. You expressed an interest in it." Her smile tightened. "And, of course, with your life. That is no small prize, human. I am certain that you must treasure it."

She was right. I did. That was why the prospect of trying to kill Tymofarrar made my knees want to knock together. I didn't understand why these two vipers wouldn't just go duke it out between themselves and let me pick up whatever was left. "And if I said no?" I found myself saying.

The elf's expression didn't change. "Then I am afraid that I will have to kill you," she said indifferently. "You know too much. You have undoubtedly overheard at least a portion of my conversation with my superiors. Who knows what you may say, if I let you go freely?"

_But you were willing to let me go as long as I killed Tymofarrar._ Funny, how what was allowable changed on the basis of what she wanted out of me. I would have laughed, if I thought it wouldn't be the last thing I ever did. "If you give me the tooth, I'll swear not to tell anyone-"

She slashed her hand through the air dismissively. "Not good enough," she said clinically. "You lesser races are weak. You may think better of your promise, and then what?" She smiled. "Besides, what can you possibly offer that would entice me to give up the tooth? Only Tymofarrar's death will do that." She stepped forward, her eyes holding mine like a cobra mesmerizing a mouse. "Think, human. With this little favor, you earn your freedom and this ridiculous chunk of bone you so desire. Without-" She gestured, and her warriors closed in. "You earn your death." She cocked her head, still smiling. "Come, now," she said. "Is that such a difficult proposition?"

The vial of red powder that Tymofarrar had given to me was slippery in my palm. I didn't let go, even so. Instead, I eased my thumb over the cork, working it the last little way from the bottle's neck. _I hope you were telling the truth, you bloated fucking crocodile,_ I thought viciously. I'd had enough of powerful beings letting me down to last me a lifetime.

I backed away a step. Desperate for time, desperate for a chance to think without this woman's blank silver eyes staring me down, I stalled. "There's something I was noticing about you, J'Nah," I struck out randomly, hoping to distract her. I'd heard of the elven races, and seen at least one of all of them but the drow and avariel, and she looked nothing like anything I'd ever heard of. Neither did her warriors – pale, sinewy, with eyes as black and blank as an insect's. "You're not just an elf – are you? You're something else."

She paused in mid-step. "No," she said, a faint note of surprise in her voice. "That is very perceptive of you. I am not."

I felt a thrill of triumph. It had worked! "What are you, then?" I asked.

She gave me a measuring look. "I am what is known as a Daemonfey," she confessed easily. "Generations of sun elves bred with demons to produce my family line. It is a noble lineage, and powerful – and thus far beyond your comprehension."

Then she gestured to her warriors, who stood to attention. "Of course," she added calmly, as if she was discussing the weather, "Since our existence is a secret, I am afraid I shall have to kill you so completely that your body will be destroyed beyond any hope of resurrection. I cannot allow a too-clever human to reveal our existence before the time is ripe." She smiled at me, and gave her warriors an order in a language I didn't understand. "Goodbye, fool," she told me, and began an incantation.

The warriors closed, and I stared at her dumbly, unable to understand how things had gone so wrong, so quickly. "Wait!" I said. The warriors came on, and J'Nah didn't pause in her chanting. I backed away another step. "Wait, you don't have to do this-" They didn't listen. "Oh, _shit._ Xanos! NOW!"

Almost as soon as I'd screamed the words, the ground began to shake and warp.

The rumble of an earth elemental being summoned – recognizable to me, after Xanos and I had been forced to fight one just to get the doors to the damned cavern open – tore the air, and, with a last mental curse at Tymofarrar, I flung the vial of red powder at J'Nah's face.

The powder settled on the elf's head and shoulders like a glittering crimson veil. Her eyes widened.

Then her pallid flesh began to bubble. Tiny eruptions of bloody frost burst to the surface layers of her skin.

J'Nah's steps froze. Her slender frame hunched over in sudden agony. "It burns!" she shrieked, her hands flying to her ravaged face. Dark blossoms of blood appeared on her robes. "I will tear out your heart for this, you little…ahh, dark gods, it _burns_!"

I was so engrossed in the gory scene before me, so horrified, that I only saw the incoming blade out of the corner of my eye.

I gasped and lifted Silent Partner, twisting reflexively to block the attack.

The elven warrior's sword *shing*ed off of the zalantar wood, spitting sparks. I staggered backwards and tried to regain my balance before he attacked again.

I heard the hiss of acid – that was Xanos. I heard the roar of an enraged elemental – that was the thing our token had summoned.

I heard a high-pitched scream and saw one of the elven warriors fly past, sideways. That must have been the earth elemental, too. I would have thanked it, but I was a little busy at the moment.

Still, I was so distracted by the fighting going on all around me that I barely managed to block the warrior's next hit, which came in high.

Then, while my block was still up high, his foot came in and took me straight in the solar plexus. The air whooshed out of my lungs, and suddenly I went from standing to lying flat on my back. Stars danced in front of my eyes.

Then my blood ran cold, because I felt the prick of cold metal slip up beneath the scales on my armor, right between my breasts. I stopped trying to breath. I didn't even dare to move. The edge of the blade was unnaturally, disturbingly sharp.

"Stand aside," J'Nah's voice ordered coolly. The sword's point withdrew. I felt a drop of blood trickle down between my breasts, and I sucked in a breath of air at last. It was dusty, and stale, and it burned my throat, but it tasted sweet to me.

Then I felt the sorceress's hand, tipped with too-long nails, grip my chin. She turned my head to face her. Her grip was unbreakable.

Her eyes weren't silver any more. They were as red as coals. I stared into them, transfixed. I'd never looked into the eyes of someone who wanted to kill me. The naked intent in them terrified me beyond all reason.

"You should be honored, human," she said. Her voice was tightly controlled and cold as ever, but those eyes – those eyes gave her away. "My people seldom consider those of your race worth the effort of killing. But I think I will make an exception, under the circumstances." She grimaced, the movement making her ravaged skin crack and ooze. "You have caused me a considerable amount of pain. I think I will enjoy returning it to you, tenfold."

She let go. I dropped to the floor.

I heard J'Nah begin to chant, and I knew that I was about to die.

I closed my eyes. My heart pounded. Beneath it, something hot and bright pulsed with my heartbeat, like a tiny sun.

_You are god-touched, little warmling,_ Tymofarrar's voice reverberated in my memory. _You bear a fraction of a fraction of your god's power…_

The tiny sun spun restlessly, sending out tendrils of energy.

Maybe it was only a fraction of a fraction, but it filled my whole body, purring through my veins like an electric current.

It was there, but I didn't know what to do with it. Tymofarrar was right. I had the power, but I had no clue how to use it.

_Shaundakul, you son of a bitch,_ I thought. _You brought me here. Don't leave me alone with this thing._

_Show me how to use it._

The air moved. _Shield yourself,_ it whispered in my ear, slipping in beneath the deafening roar of blood. _Raise your hand. Raise it, raise it, raise it._

Almost lethargically, I obeyed.

The air was fresh, and it had the bite of winter.

I breathed it in, and the power in me uncoiled.

_Shape it, like this,_ the air said again, and I let the power flow out of me, half-guided by the brush of the wind against my hands.

I couldn't see the power, but I could feel it, and so I shaped it, raising both hands because it helped me to form the power better, sculpting it into a barrier that felt as smooth as glass to the touch of my mind.

I heard the witch's voice rise as she reached the end of her spell. A single point of fire bloomed above her open palm.

And then the fire grew larger, and it fountained towards me like a blast from a flamethrower.

In a panic, I threw everything I had at the shield of force I'd built around myself. I felt like everything in me, guts and blood and bone, was pouring into that thing, but I couldn't stop now if I wanted to. The power was unspooling like an old film reel, faster than I could trace, and it was taking me along for the ride.

I felt a moment of panic, and then the air around me lit up like a jack-o-lantern.

I cringed instinctively against the onslaught of orange light and the spit and crackle of fire all around me.

Then I wondered why the air felt so cool, and I looked up, confused.

Then my mouth parted in wonder. Fire flowed to either side of me, passing over my barrier harmlessly, like water over a ship's keel. I saw the outline of the shield, saw it flicker, felt the hum and throb of it in my blood.

I realized that, contrary to all expectations, I was still alive.

The light was fading, and through the haze of firelight I saw J'Nah backing away.

Her red eyes were dulling to silver. They weren't confident anymore. They were surprised. They were wary. She hadn't expected any resistance from me. She'd thought I was just that pathetic.

The fact that she'd been right only made me angrier.

Silent Partner had fallen not far from my hand. I picked it up and used it to pull myself to my feet.

There was fighting going on around us, but there was no one immediately nearby, and I only had eyes for J'Nah.

The sorceress watched me approach. She held her ground. "I see your ploy," she said in her cool voice, but there was a faint grimace of uncertainty playing around her lips. "You hoped to lure me into complacency by hiding your true abilities. An admirable gambit, especially from one of the lesser races-"

_Lesser races._ My lips pulled back from my teeth. " _Shut up_ ," I snarled, and a whiplash surge of power rose up in me, turning my words into a command.

The dismayed expression on J'Nah's face when she opened her mouth and no sound came out was one I would treasure for a long, long time.

When I reached her, I was surprised by how small she really was, how frail and fine-boned and pale.

I asked myself what my old friend Harry would do, and I answered: if she didn't surrender, he'd strike fast, strike hard, and make sure she could never hurt anyone ever again, the way she'd hurt Drogan and all the dead Hilltop had been forced to bury and who knew how many others.

And then I realized that I was no longer afraid.

"Will you tell me the names of your superiors?" I asked, and I was surprised by how steady my own voice had become.

Her face hardened. I saw a flicker of fear behind her eyes, right before she shook her head.

"Will you agree to abandon your search and leave here in peace?"

This time her eyes flickered red, and she glared at me coldly. Her lips tightened.

Message received, loud and clear. "Then I'm afraid I can't let you leave," I said, and brought my quarterstaff up.

It stopped before it reached her throat, held there by her hand.

I looked down at the elf's white-knuckled grip. Blue veins bulged on the back of her thin hand, and her face was strained, but try as I might, I couldn't force Silent Partner up.

So I decided not to. I brought my knee up into her solar plexus, instead.

I knew from experience how much that hurt, so I wasn't surprised when the sorceress lost her grip on my quarterstaff and toppled backwards.

She lay on her back, gasping for breath. I stood over her.

Her eyes met mine. Her lips moved. "Mercy," she mouthed silently, and I hesitated, my quarterstaff hovering over her throat.

Then her hand shot up, and there was a tiny dagger in it. She sank it into the side of my calf, twisting it as it went in.

It was red-hot agony. I'd never experienced such pain. It blanked my mind. Adrenaline screamed through my body.

_I_ screamed, and, acting on pure reflex, I brought Silent Partner down.

Its butt sank into J'Nah's windpipe. I felt her throat crumple, felt the shock travel up the staff, and then the quarterstaff tingled and a jolt was travelling back down the staff and then J'Nah was thrashing soundlessly, like a fish out of water, her mouth open on a scream that wouldn't come, because I'd taken her voice away.

I wrenched Silent Partner away, horrified, but her face was already blackening, and I smelled the stench of burning meat and scorched hair, and I couldn't stop it, couldn't take back what I'd just done. All I could do was watch.

It took her such a terribly long time to die.


	20. Chapter 20

_I know that you're in there_   
_I can see you_   
_You're saying you're ok_   
_I don't believe you_

_There's never gonna be a moment of truth for you_   
_While the world is watching_   
_All you need is the thing you forgotten_   
_And that's to learn to live with what you are_

_\- Ben Folds Five, "Learn To Live With What You Are"_

* * *

I sat in one corner of J'Nah's study, my head between my knees.

Xanos was rooting through her bookcases, giddy as a schoolboy. He exclaimed loudly every time he found something he liked, which was often.

I tuned him out and concentrated on not throwing up. Again. My eyes were wide open. I blinked only when I absolutely had to. I kept seeing J'Nah's corpse whenever I closed my eyes, painted on the insides of my eyelids like a scream.

Eventually, the half-orc returned, his arms overflowing with books and scrolls. "The elven wench was sitting on a veritable treasure trove of knowledge," he announced happily. "Look at this! I think it is Netherese, like these ruins. Look at the script! She must have found it when she excavated these tunnels. Xanos must translate it when he has leisure."

I didn't look up. I nodded wordlessly into my arms. My face felt hot and sticky. My eyes felt swollen.

Xanos went silent. Parchment rustled. "What-" he began. Then he stopped. He tried again. "Are you-" He bit his words off with a noise of frustration. "Why-" He made a strangled sound. "Oh, bloody buggering Hells!" he shouted. Then I heard the crinkle of papers being stuffed unceremoniously into a sack. I heard the half-orc's heavy footsteps approach. "You will come with Xanos now," the half-orc announced imperiously.

I ventured a peek at him, grateful for the hair that had come loose from my ponytail. It obscured my face. I was sure I must have been a sight, and it wasn't one I wanted the self-righteous whoreson to see. "Don't you have studying to do?" I asked, my voice muffled by my arm.

"No. There is nothing else of interest here," he said curtly. His yellow eyes studied me. "Can you walk?"

I sniffled and turned my head away, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "Yeah," I said thickly. "Gimme a minute."

When I tried to stand, I realized that my estimate might have been a little optimistic. Agony shot through my calf. My knees buckled.

Xanos knelt beside me as I sat very still on the floor, panting and cursing through the tears that were running down my face. I wasn't really creative about the swearing – I just repeated the same word, over and over again, really really loudly. It didn't help much, but at least it gave me something to do. "Can you keep down a healing potion?" he asked.

My stomach was roiling. "Don't think so," I mumbled.

I heard him bite off a sigh. "Very well," he snarled. "But if you ever _dare_ to tell anyone about this…"

I blinked dumbly. "About wh-" I started to ask.

Then I found myself being picked up like a sack of potatoes.

The experience startled the words right out of my mouth.

Xanos held me with one arm securely behind my knees and one behind my shoulders. His grip was stiff and he held me as far from his chest as he possibly could, but I noticed that he took some care not to jostle my leg.

He spared me a brief glower before looking back up, his eyes straight ahead. "You will speak of this to no one," he ordered, in tones that brooked no argument.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times. "No one would believe me," I said at last, weakly.

The sorcerer carried me back the way we had come. We passed J'Nah's corpse. I averted my eyes and clenched my jaw, willing myself not to cry where Xanos could see it. I couldn't keep myself from shivering, though. If Xanos noticed, he showed no sign of it.

Xanos climbed up the rope into the gnoll caverns above the ruins and then instructed me to hold on to the rope while he hauled me up behind him, grunting with the effort. Then he picked me up again, businesslike, and carried me back through the winding, filthy caverns of the gnolls.

He stepped over the stiffening bodies of the gnolls we'd killed. The bears we'd freed from the gnollish pens were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they'd gone back to their forests, after relieving the world of Gishnak. I hoped so. I hoped that the human captives the gnolls had taken from Blumberg had made it back to Hilltop, too. We'd done what we could for the refugees, but the way was long, and we'd had no time and only had a few healing potions to spare.

Eventually, I felt cooler air. We stepped out into moonlight. Shadowy boughs rustled, and owls hooted.

Xanos carried me wordlessly through the woods until we reached a clearing. Then, still without a word, he set me down against a tree and busied himself with building a fire.

I didn't say much, myself. I didn't know what to say.

I wondered how you could tell if someone had been replaced with a doppelganger. There were probably spells, but I sure as hell didn't know them.

When the sorcerer spoke, it was after such a long silence that I almost leapt straight into the air and conked my head on a low-hanging branch.

"You should rejoice in your victory," he said. He poked the fire with a stick. He didn't look at me. "The elf-witch was made to rue the day that she crossed you."

_Oh, fuck._ My throat was swelling shut again, and my eyes were burning. I huddled further into my cloak and turned my face away. "I don't want to talk about it," I said curtly.

"Why not? Your opponent is dead, and you are alive. We have even claimed the dragon tooth and all of her other treasures as our prize." Xanos's tone was full of forced joviality. "What is there to lament?"

I couldn't take it any more. If he didn't shut up, I was going to start sniveling, and I didn't want to break down in front of Mr. 'Ha-ha, I Mock Your Displays of Womanish Emotion!' himself. "I don't want to talk about it," I repeated from between clenched teeth.

He fell silent. The fire crackled. I bit down on my leather-clad wrist and choked back sobs so that he wouldn't hear them. _Big girls don't cry,_ I told myself. _Get a hold of yourself, woman. Big girls don't cry._ A sick and creeping horror filled me, though, and made it impossible for me to take my own advice.

After a while, though, I finally ran out of tears – more from dehydration than anything else – and curled up against the tree, trying to sniffle quietly. If he asked, I figured I'd pass it off as allergies.

I jumped when I heard him move. "Gods damn it!" he snapped. Something rustled. He stomped over to me. "Take this," he commanded.

I lifted my head and squinted at him cautiously. He was holding out a square of white cloth. "What-" I started.

His face turned purple. "Just shut up and take it, you idiot woman!" he roared.

I took the thing, just to keep him from having a fit.

Cool, damp cloth lay across my palms. It was a linen towel – soaked in snowmelt, from the smell of it. Snow had a smell that was different than rain, or than potable water from a well. It was a discovery I'd made only after spending so much time in the mountains.

Hesitantly, I dabbed my face. The cloth was refreshing, and it soothed the skin around my eyes and nose, which was hot and swollen and was probably quite a sight by now.

Then I folded the cloth carefully and drank a healing potion for my leg. It was cold and viscous, and slid down my gullet in a way that made it a challenge not to gag it back up again – but it was either that or stay in pain, and my leg really fucking hurt.

I leaned back against my tree when I thought I was okay to move again.

I watched Xanos for a while. He stared broodingly into the fire. I couldn't blame him. I felt pretty broody, myself.

"Thank you," I said eventually, my voice quiet.

He grunted in reply. He still didn't look my way. "Xanos killed a man when he was thirteen," he said distantly. "It was his first. It happened not longer after his mother died of fever, and Xanos discovered that the other villagers were no longer so willing to tolerate his presence - not once his mother was gone, and the poor, mad woman's inexplicable attachment to her ill-born son no longer needed to be indulged." His eyes flickered orange in the firelight. "He did not mean to do what he did. His power was raw, unrefined, and the man had threatened to drown Xanos - like a mongrel puppy, he said. Xanos was not yet come into his full strength. The man was much stronger, and would not let go. Of course, the others did not believe Xanos when he said it was an accident. It was. But that does not matter now."

_Xanos did this, Xanos did that,_ I thought. I wondered if it hurt too much to say 'I', with the kind of life Xanos had apparently led before coming to Drogan's. Hell, there were parts of my _own_ life that I'd have liked to pretend had happened to someone else. So what if Xanos had taken it that extra step? He'd already had people threatening to drown him before he'd even hit puberty. A little craziness was only rational. "I'm sorry," I said, and though it felt pitifully inadequate, I couldn't think of anything better to say.

The half-orc gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It does not matter now," he repeated. He paused. "The eyes were the worst," he said. "The rest was not so bad. The eyes…"

I knew exactly what he meant. "Yeah," I said. My voice cracked.

Xanos looked over at me briefly. "Try to sleep," he said curtly. "I will take first watch."

I nodded mutely and curled up on my side, huddled in on myself like a child.

Then the healing potion began to take hold, and I drifted off into a fitful sleep, my dreams full of blank, accusing eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

I knocked on the door first. I still remembered the way the crossbow bolt had whizzed by my ear last time. I was pretty sure it had split a few hairs on its way past. I didn't want a repeat of that experience.

The door opened a crack. A beady eye peered out. "Hey, you're back!" a scratchy voice shrieked happily. "Come in, come in! You, uh, you gots anything for Deekin?"

The shop he'd been hiding in was still as ramshackle as ever. I supposed that he hadn't had any time to do some housekeeping, though I saw that he'd piled up a few sacks of potatoes and flour behind the counter, giving himself a makeshift little bunker.

"As a matter of fact, I do," I said eventually, and looked down at the little kobold. He'd sunk into his usual nervous crouch, and he was blinking up at me owlishly, a toothy, hopeful grin parting his snout. "I spoke with Tymofarrar," I went on, and took my hands from behind my back to hand over what I'd been hiding under my cloak. "He told me to give you this."

It was an odd thing, a battered ragdoll with buttons for eyes and its stuffing coming out of one of its legs. It was filthy and dilapidated. It looked like it had seen a lot of use.

When Deekin saw it, he squealed and snatched it out of my hands. His squeal was the kind of high-pitched, piercing noise that went through a person's head like a railroad spike. I winced.

"Old Master…give you Deekin's doll?" he asked, clutching the thing to his scrawny chest. "He did! Oh, this be wonderful! Deekin finally be free!" he exclaimed. He sniffed noisily, his eyes glistening damply, and I found myself wondering if kobolds even _had_ tear ducts. "Oh, happy day! Thank you, lady, thank you, thank you!"

I looked down at him. His scales were smudged with dirt and soot, he was wearing what looked like a pillowcase in place of a shirt, and he was holding a stuffed doll. Still, he seemed happy, and who was I to judge? "Um. You're…welcome?" I said dubiously. I cleared my throat. "But…about that statue…"

"Oh!" The kobold started. "Right, right! Wait here, lady, Deekin goes and gets it!"

He scurried off. Xanos and I watched him go.

Xanos shifted. "If that lizard made us run around the Silver Marches like fools while all the while he had that thing under a floorboard..." he rumbled in an ominous undertone.

The sound of cracking wood echoed through the little store. I winced. "I think he did," I said. Then I flung out a hand just in time to keep Xanos from marching over and doing whatever it was he was thinking of doing to Deekin. "Hey, look, we'd have had to go through all of that anyway just to get the other artifacts. Don't kill him-"

"Killing was not what Xanos had in mind," the half-orc returned pleasantly. His eyes gleamed. "Not immediately, anyway."

Deekin scampered back, his doll in one hand and a plain stone cylinder in the other. "Here it be, here it be!" he announced happily, and dropped the thing into my outstretched hands like a transcontinental courier glad to finally be relieved of his package. "Broken, like Deekin said," the kobold went on, and then he cleared his throat scratchily and scuffed a clawed toe against the floor. "Um, though that not Deekin's fault, really," he added hastily, "…and Deekin not think it worth discussing that little detail again-"

I tuned him out. The statue seemed so small and nondescript for a thing that had caused such a commotion. It looked like a tower, but only just, and it was made of crumbling sandstone. I could see where it had been joined together, there between the base and the main body. Now it was split, cracked like an egg by some clumsy kobold who, depending on which of the kobold's stories you chose to believe, may or may not have been Deekin.

There was an orb nestled in the tower's hollow core. It had the same not-quite opacity of obsidian, but it was silver rather than black, and it felt far too heavy for its size. My skin tingled unpleasantly wherever the orb touched it.

I held the thing out to Xanos. "Hey, genius," I said. "What do you make of this?"

He took it. "It could be one of many things," he began sententiously. "The first thing that comes to mind is-"

A whole lot of very big words washed over me. I stopped listening. Eventually, Xanos stopped talking, and I looked at his face. It was a little glum. "So you don't know what it is," I guessed. He grimaced and shook his head. "Okay. Don't worry, that's okay. We'll just take it to Master Drogan and see what he says." I turned back to Deekin. "Well, thanks, Deek-"

The kobold interrupted me by flinging his spindly arms around my armored thigh. My metal scales scraped against one another noisily. "No thanking Deekin, lady!" the kobold said in a muffled voice. "Deekin should be thanking you!"

I felt a flush coming on. "You did that already, Deekin," I mumbled. "Please stop." I looked at Xanos and added, with a hint of mischief, "Why don't you thank the nice Xanos instead? This wouldn't have happened without him." Also, I knew the acknowledgement would embarrass Xanos tremendously, no matter how well-earned it was...and misery loved company.

The kobold peered at the sorcerer dubiously. "O-kay," he said hesitantly. "Er. Deekin thanks big green man, too, okay?"

Xanos harrumphed. He didn't look me in the face, but there was a purplish flush on his cheeks. "Yes, yes," he said testily. "Xanos is certain that you are overcome with gratitude. It is a natural response to his prowess and magnanimousness in victory-"

"Actually, Deekin just say it to be nice. Sorry."

I saw the whites of Xanos's eyes. They were rolling the way an angry bull's might, right before he charged the bullfighter. "Okay. I think we're done here!" I said brightly. I paused. "Uh. Deekin?"

He craned his neck to look up at me, his eyes bright. "Yeah, lady?"

"You can stop hugging my leg now."

Drogan and I sat in my room, me perched on the edge of my bed and him in the only armchair the little corner room had to its name. We sat so close that our knees were nearly touching, and talked quietly of whatever came to mind.

"I hear that ye did some impressive things out there," the old wizard commented sagely. His eyes were bright and alert. I was pretty sure they could see through me as easily as if I were made of glass.

I shrugged and looked away, swallowing down my anger. I must not have swallowed hard enough, because two words escaped my throat anyway. "You knew," I said. An accusing edge laced my voice.

He paused. "Aye," he said quietly. "I had an inkling, when ye told me what happened when yer god touched ye. Gods don't show such favor to specific souls so often...but it does happen, and it always changes the one who's so favored."

I remembered what had happened just a little _too_ clearly. The hairs on the back of my neck still stood on end whenever I thought of it. "So why didn't you tell me?" I asked, just as quietly. I'd long since learned that there was no use in yelling at Drogan – besides, the old wizard probably had his reasons for what he'd done. He was tough, but he wasn't cruel, and he'd never hurt me if he could help it. A year and a half in his company had taught me that. "It would've been nice to know what was going on."

"If ye'd known, ye would either have chosen not to believe me, or it would've thrown ye off, and ye'd have been second-guessing every move ye made," Drogan replied. His voice was filled with regret. "I'm sorry, lass, but ye needed to react on instinct, to get the ball rollin'. That's why I kept tryin' to throw you surprises in the practice barn, to spur ye to use it, but…well, ye're a stubborn one. And this is comin' from a dwarf, mind," he added, chuckling. "Anyhow. It seems that it took a life or death situation to finally get ye to let loose and start usin' what yer god gave ye. That's how this kind of power works, at the start – it's all guts and intuition, no thinkin' required."

I laughed shortly. "Fortunately for me, I'm good at not thinking," I muttered.

The dwarf's eyes softened. "Ye're too hard on yerself, me girl," he said.

I made a noncommittal noise. "Maybe." I plucked at a loose thread on my coverlet – though not mine for much longer, I supposed. I felt a pang of sadness at the thought. "Why'd he do it?" I asked then, my voice scarcely audible.

"Why'd the Rider of the Wind favor ye so, ye mean?" Drogan shrugged. "I don't know. He's an unpredictable one, always has been – and word has it that he likes to pick his followers personally, each and every one. It means that he's got damned few, but they're all as close as peas in a pod, and they all have his ear in a way that the followers of greater gods seldom do." The old dwarf smiled gently. "As to why...who knows why he chose ye? Maybe he just saw somethin' he liked in ye.

An old, old memory surfaced. _"I think I like you, angry as you are,"_ Shaundakul murmured in my memory, to the gentle patter of rain in Central Park.

" _You don't even know me,"_ I'd replied.

He'd smiled. _"Nevertheless."_

I'd been wrong, though. He _had_ known me, in whatever unfathomable way that gods saw through mortals. But that was still no explanation. I just wasn't that likeable, and anyway, why give me this capacity to do these things when there were probably a million more competent people on this world alone who'd probably fit his criteria?

Drogan's soothing brogue interrupted my thoughts. "Have ye decided what ye'd like to do?" he asked me.

After all of our schlepping around to recover all four of the lost artifacts, neither Xanos and I had been especially happy to realize that it was the tower statue J'Nah had been after all along, and all the others were so much junk.

We'd been doubly unhappy to discover that Drogan had no idea what the tower statue actually did, or what the crystalline orb we'd found inside of it was.

We'd been _triply_ unhappy to hear that Drogan had a friend he wanted us to see about that crystal, an expert in ancient artifacts by the name of Garrick Halassar – Garrick Halassar, who'd last been seen in the middle of a desert wasteland with nothing but a shovel, a hat, and a burning interest in archaeology.

That, alone, was an argument against trying to track down this Garrick. All of the archaeologists I'd met in my life had been a few geese shy of a gaggle.

But. But, but, but. Drogan was still too weak and shaky from the poison to travel, and we couldn't exactly pass the orb on to the next caravan going that way, not knowing who wanted it or why. It was too risky.

In order to get to the bottom of this, the old dwarf needed someone to find this Garrick, someone he could trust - and, under those circumstances, with words like 'trust' and 'faith' getting thrown around and bruising my already bloodied conscience, the old dwarf was hard to say 'no' to.

There was that. And then there was the fact that I didn't really have a clearer idea of where to go from here. Maybe if I just followed where this led, I'd find a portal home at the end of it, as Tymofarrar had suggested. Somehow. It was an outlandish idea, but it was the best idea I had to work with.

I let out a sigh. I didn't know why I was hesitating. I'd obviously already decided what I was going to do, whether I liked it or not. "I'll go," I said. Then I did hesitate. "Is Xanos…"

"Oh, the lad's already complained to high heaven about the indignity of being pressed into service as a glorified courier, but then he decided that ye'd likely run into a dragon or two, or maybe a phaerimm, so it could still turn out to be an adequate test of his abilities." Drogan's eyes twinkled. "So, in other words…aye. He's agreed to go."

I blinked. "Oh." My shoulders relaxed, letting out a tension I hadn't even known I'd been holding. I cleared my throat. "Guess the Anauroch's about to get one step closer to Hell, then, huh?"

Drogan tsked. "Behave yerself, lass," he chuckled. "It's a long road ye have ahead, and I'd be happier if ye two could avoid killin' each other along the way."

I grinned suddenly. "Whatever you say, Master Drogan," I agreed easily.

At that, the dwarf shook his head. "Just Drogan to ye now," he said. "Ye've more than proven that ye're capable of bein' out on yer own, and I'm no longer yer master. Just a proud former teacher, a peer, and, dare I hope," he said, and his eyes twinkled behind his spectacles, "Dare I hope – a friend?"

I sat, stunned, for several moments – the time it took for my brain to finally comprehend what he was saying. "I…Drogan…"

He leaned forward and patted my hand. "Now, now," he said. "I know. Take yer time, lass. I'm old, but I think I've still got a few decades to spare. I'll be here when ye get yer wits back."

That startled a laugh out of me. "Oh, fine," I said. "Have a laugh at my expense. God knows everyone else does." Then I hesitated, and, before I could think better of it, I slipped off of the bed, leaned down, and kissed his grizzled cheek. He was still pale, I noticed, but looking better all the time. "Thanks," I said softly. I'd never thanked Harry for all he'd done. I'd bever said goodbye to my parents. I wasn't going to make the same mistake with Drogan. "Just…thanks. For everything." I smiled. "My friend." It felt good to say it.

He blinked a few times. "Don't mention it," he said gruffly. Then he harrumphed noisily. "Well. I'd best stop takin' up your time, then. Ye've got packin' to do." He'd taken his spectacles off and rubbed at his eyes. "Hmph. This place needs a good cleanin'. I think I've a speck o' something in my eye."

I laughed again, in spite of myself. "It's gotten dusty in here while you were sick," I agreed. Then I helped him down the stairs and turned my attention to packing my bags.

Once I was done with that, I left the house and walked slowly up to the cliff overlooking the Rauvin river.

It was the place from where I'd thrown away Shaundakul's holy symbol the second time, right after Drogan had accepted me as his student.

The rapids frothed far below. They were blue-white. They reminded me a little of J'Nah's unnaturally pale skin, which made me think of her eyes, and the way the light had gone out of them when she'd died.

My mood turned gloomy. Xanos had been right. The eyes really were the worst.

A year ago, I'd been a lost little rich girl.

Now I was still lost, but I was a lost little rich girl who'd killed someone.

I'd stopped J'Nah's voice with a spell her not long before I killed her, so I'd had to watch her die in silence, her face contorted in a soundless scream.

It had seemed like such a horrible way to go.

I stared down over the blue-white rills of the river, and I wondered what was becoming of me. I felt profoundly alone, like my act had somehow set me apart from the rest of the human race.

After a while, I noticed something strange.

The water had stopped moving.

I looked up. The world had gone still. It was wrapped in an eerie silence. The clouds had stopped their southwesterly glide. There had been birds wheeling around above the water, but they all seemed to have vanished.

A gust of wind brushed against my cheek.

I'd often noticed that there are a lot of unconscious cues we humans – and half-orcs and dwarves and so on, I supposed – pick up on.

For instance, if all else is quiet and we listen to our instincts, we always know when someone is standing right behind us.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I didn't turn around. "Son of a _bitch_ ," I said vehemently.

"That is a novel way to greet your god." The deep voice was soft and thunderous all at once. It sounded amused.

I scowled. "Don't come any closer," I said. "I don't know what you've done here, but I'm pretty sure that gravity still works. I'll jump."

"Please do not. I would hate to lose a perfectly good priestess."

"Then don't sneak up on me like this."

I heard a chuckle. "Ah, my dear Rebecca," he said. "As cantankerous as always."

"You give me plenty of reasons."

"You need no reasons, my dear. Just excuses."

"I'm not your dear."

"You are dear to me."

"That's kind of creepy, you know."

"Creepy?" He repeated the word as if he'd never heard it before.

"This is, what, the third time we've actually met in person? And you're already saying that you love me? Yeah. That's creepy."

"I treasure all of my worshippers. You are no exception. Far from it."

"I'm not your worshipper. Hell, I don't even _like_ you."

"You may not like me, but you are very much like me."

"Bullshit."

I heard a bark of laughter. "You are remarkably perverse," the god observed drily. "Would you also insist that the sky is green, if I told you first that it was blue?"

My lip curled. "Excuse me if I don't like being enlisted into being…hell, I don't even know what I am…without even being told what's going on." I scrubbed my hand over my face. I felt worn out. I hadn't slept well the night before, despite being clean at last and back in a real bed. "I killed a woman the other day," I said. I didn't know why I said it. Maybe it was because it just kept going around and around in my head, leaving no room for anything else. "Before I killed her, I used that…that thing you did to me. That power." I laughed harshly. "Is that why you gave it to me?" I asked. "So that I could kill people?"

He was silent. The wind whistled around us, tousling my hair. "What would you have done, had I made you humble yourself with prayers and rituals in exchange for my help?" he asked at last.

I snorted. "I'd have told you to shove it up your ass sideways and then give it a twirl."

The god guffawed – that was the only way to describe it, though it was hard as hell to reconcile the concept of divinity with the concept of someone who enjoyed a good insult. "Yes," he replied, deadpan. "I know."

"So you just gave me this thing because you didn't want to make me feel trapped?" I laughed harshly. "Too late."

"No," he said gravely. "I gave it to you because falcons hunt poorly when they are jessed."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm no falcon," I said. "Shit, I don't even like flying."

"You have the potential to be one…" I heard the smile in his voice when he paused. "…with the right falconer."

I shook my head, a little motion of denial. "I'm not a falcon," I said, my voice faltering. I squeezed my eyes shut. "I'm a murderer."

He was silent for a moment. I felt him draw nearer. His presence registered in my senses like a lighthouse beacon in the fog. I could have pointed straight at him without even looking. "Tell me something, Rebecca," he said.

I opened my eyes and stared morosely at my feet. My boots were starting to look worn. I'd need a new pair soon. "What?" I asked warily.

"You looked into J'Nah's eyes. You spoke with her. You judged her intentions."

I moved my head in a faint nod of acknowledgement, before I could catch myself. I remembered her burning red eyes. I remembered the malice in them. "Yeah?" I said sullenly. "So? What's your point?"

"What would she have done, had you let her live?"

I knew the answer as soon as he asked the question. I just didn't like saying it. "Tracked me down and killed me, then Xanos," I said. "Then killed Deekin, and probably Drogan and all of the other students, just for being associated with me." I stared down at the still waters of the Rauvin.

"And then?" Shaundakul prompted, after I'd fallen silent.

I sighed. "And then anyone else who was in her way," I admitted wearily. My shoulders slumped. "And she'd have enjoyed every minute of it."

He was right behind me now. "And yet your act still pains you?" he asked.

"That's an incredibly stupid question right there."

"Why? You killed her to keep others safe. Why the remorse?"

I bristled indignantly. "That's ludicrous. I wasn't-" I paused, and groped for words. "I wasn't trying to be some kind of a hero. I wasn't trying to win a fucking _prize_. I was just…just…"

"You were just doing what needed to be done. Yes." Then I felt a light touch on my shoulders, the weight of hands which seemed almost too solid to be divine – almost, if not for the buzz of power I felt run through the points of contact, or the way the tingle beneath my breastbone seemed to uncurl and reach towards him like a flower towards the sun.

Shaundakul leaned forward. His breath stirred my hair. "My faith in you was not misplaced," he told me softly. "Grieve if you must, because that is what separates you from the J'Nahs of the world." He squeezed my shoulders, comforting. "But do not hate yourself for your actions. J'Nah chose one way. You chose another. That is all." I heard that smile in his voice again. "Be content in the knowledge that your choice was the wiser."

Long after the sense of his presence had gone and the world had come out of its strange state of stasis, I stood listening to the rush of the Rauvin and staring at the far peaks of the Nether Mountains. The setting sun painted them with streaks of rose and blush-orange and pale gold. They were beautiful.

I heard the soft padding of canine paws, and heard a familiar panting.

A cold, damp nose insinuated itself into my palm. I looked down. "Bethsheba," I greeted the wolf. I rubbed her ears, prompting her to lean against me and make little grunting noises of approval. "You shameless little slut," I said fondly, and scratched beneath her white-furred jowls. Her foot thumped ecstatically against the ground.

Smiling, I looked over my shoulder. Then I blinked. "When did all of you get here?" I asked, turning around.

Lodar raised an eyebrow at me. "Just now," he said. He folded his arms across his barrel chest, looking grudgingly impressed. "We could not find you, at first. Then Farghan suggested that we have that wolf of his track you down. It took _her_ nearly no time at all."

"And that fine bitch of his did a marvy job, I must say," Delia observed, grinning. She slapped a hand against her stomach. "Maybe we should send her looking for my waistline, next. How about it?"

"Aye, though we might have to send her back in time, oh, about thirty years," Lodar said blandly. Then he stepped aside adroitly, ahead of Delia's incoming elbow.

Farghan watched them, smiling quizzically. "It was no trouble," he said. He looked at Bethsheba, who pricked her ears forward and wagged her tail, incidentally bludgeoning my thigh and making me wish I was still wearing my armor. "Rebecca has a very distinctive smell."

"I'll bet. Those adventurers don't bathe near enough, do they?" Delia chortled, and slapped Lodar's back. He shot her a disgruntled look.

I rolled my eyes at her good-naturedly – Delia wouldn't be Delia if she wasn't making potty jokes – and turned to Farghan. "What _do_ I smell like?" I asked him curiously.

He cocked his head thoughtfully. He and Bethsheba stared at one another for a long moment. An indefinable something passed between them. "Thunderstorms," he said at last. "And lilacs."

The latter I could see – Farghan had taught me how to distill my own perfume from the flowers, those mountain lilacs that grew like weeds in this area. The thunderstorm thing, though, was a little stranger.

I looked down at Bethsheba curiously. She looked up, her ruby red eyes attentive, but her thoughts, whatever they were, were reserved entirely for Farghan.

Haniah's head appeared from behind Lodar's broad back. "Oh, Rebecca!" she called. She stepped forward, beaming. "I took your advice! Piper decided that the good folk of Silverymoon needed enlightening, and _I_ needed to ask them for reinforcements, so I packed him up and sent him off with Tomas and a thousand well wishes in his future career, and poof!" She lifted her hands. "The good prophet is on his way to other climes."

"I don't know about calling him 'good', now," Delia mused. "Rotten, yes. Stinking, yes. Good? Only if he's planted six feet under and fertilizin' the roses, I'd venture t'say."

"Now, now," Mara said primly. The auburn-haired little cook was standing next to Lodar, a stack of pies in their plates balanced expertly on her hip. "Piper is a very troubled soul. We needn't make it worse by standing around and gossiping-"

"No? Well, that's all right," Delia said expansively. "We can always sit."

Mara sighed. "Oh, Delia," she murmured despairingly. Lodar patted her shoulder, and she perked up almost immediately, a dimpled smile springing to her face. "What are we ever going to do with you?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but a jug of wine and about half a steer would do _me_ a world of good right about now."

"Oh! That reminds me - we've brought food," Haniah piped up. She pointed to a little hand-pulled wagon, heaped with bottles and cloth-draped platters and baskets and mysterious, steaming bowls. "And drink, too! The good Master Drogan bid us to come, and we did-"

"Oh, he did, did he?" I asked mildly. I looked down the hill towards the house which was, now that I thought of it, suspiciously well-lit and bustling.

Then I grinned and strode forward, draping an arm over Delia's ample shoulders as I went. "Party's at our place," I called. "Last one in's a rotten egg."

Haniah hurried after me. "Do the other students know?"

I laughed. "If they don't, they're about to."

Filling the air with our chatter, we headed down the hill, towards where lanternlight had begun to twinkle in the growing shadows of the dusk.

It was late by the time the party broke up and I'd returned to my room to take my second bath of the day. After days of nothing but cold water and harsh soap, stolen in snatches, I felt as if I'd never be clean again.

When I was done, I toweled myself off slowly and began to smooth lotion onto my skin, deep in thought.

The dagger wound J'Nah had gouged in my left calf was no more than an angry red pucker, thanks to the healing potion I'd managed to choke down. The wound would probably leave a scar similar to the bullet hole in my opposite shoulder. It looked like I'd always have something to remember the sorcereress by, whether I liked it or not.

 _We all make our choices,_ I reminded myself. _She made hers, and I made mine._

Then, my eyelids grown so heavy that I could barely see, I crawled into bed and sunk into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next morning, I opened my eyes to see Shaundakul's holy symbol dangling from one of my bedposts.

I stared up at it. "Son of a _bitch_ ," I said out loud. Then my eyes narrowed. "You're going to follow me across the Anauroch if you have to, aren't you?" I asked it. "Is that what this is about?"

The amulet didn't answer. It hung there, dangling, spinning gently in midair and glinting in the sunlight.

Suddenly, I smiled. The bastard might win this round, but I'd be damned if I made it too easy for him. "Fine," I told the amulet. "Catch me if you can. I'll be waiting."

Then I dressed myself, hoisted my pack and my weapon, and left the amulet there, dangling from its little perch.

It wasn't as if anything I did would make a difference.

Besides, I was kind of curious to see where the damned thing would turn up next. It was kind of a game, and if Shaundakul wanted to play it...

I was ready.


	22. Chapter 22

Leather traces creaked. Oxen bellowed. The sounds of chaos and bustle and a dozen voices all shouting at cross purposes rose together on the morning air.

I was obliged to dance a few steps backwards, out of the way of a pair of yoked oxen. It was either that or get trampled.

"Giddup, beefsteaks!" a halfling hollered, hauling on the rope lead of an ox who didn't seem to want to budge. The halfling's heels slipped on the churned, muddy ground. "Giddup, or it's the spit for you!"

A halfling woman hurried by, holding her voluminous skirts up out of the mud. She had hair a lot like mine, dark brown and riotously curly, but she was wearing a flouncy red and white dress that I wouldn't have been caught dead in, and she was wearing so many gold hoops and bangles that she jangled whenever she moved. She looked kind of like a three-foot-tall gypsy, but her expression was anything but merry. It was all business.

"No, damn you! No! Not that way!" the halfling ox-wrangler screamed. He was getting tangled up in the harness. The ox snorted and stomped ahead, oblivious. "Bad ox! Haw! Haw, I say!

The woman, Katriana, placed herself squarely in front of me. She had her hands on her hips and annoyed look on her face. "There you are," she announced without preamble. "The greenskin's all settled – well, I say settled, but I mean getting underfoot and making a nuisance of himself." While I was busy trying to imagine how in the hell a three-foot halfling could describe a seven-foot half-orc as 'underfoot', the woman went on with, "I've set him up with Torias and the other boys, and I've got you bunked in my wagon. Try not to destroy any of my property while you're along, will you?"

The halfling ox-handler screamed past us. "Whoa! Whooooaaa!" he shouted into the ox's ear as it dragged him relentlessly onwards. "Rib roasts, boy, I'm thinking rib roasts with mashed potatoes and gravy if you don't heed!"

I split my attention between him and Katriana, bemused. "I wasn't really planning on any property destruction on this trip," I protested.

Katriana snorted. "You adventurers always say that," she said darkly. "And then you set my wagons on fire and blame it on the Bedine. Pah!" Then she made an exasperated gesture of dismissal and forged on without waiting for my reply. "Well, never you mind that," she said. "Your master pays well, so just make yourself at home and we'll see what you'll have to add on top of that to make up for the damages by the time we reach the Aoists."

I thought of my mother's jewelry, all safely stowed in a hidden pocket at the bottom of my pack. If Katriana intended to drain _me_ dry, she was going to need a bigger caravan. "I doubt that'll be a problem," I said out loud. I looked at the chaos around us. "When do we start?" I asked.

Katriana stepped neatly out of the way of an out-of-control barrel. A pair of leather-clad halflings chased after it, shouting curses. "You break that barrel and it's coming straight out of your salaries, boys!" she called after them. I heard a crash, followed by a splash and a whole lot of swearing. Katriana sighed. "Well, those are two less purses I'll have to fill this season," she mused. Then she shook herself and turned a gimlet eye on me. "We start within the hour," she said briskly. "We'll be heading down the Ascore road until we have to turn south to skirt the ruins and make for the Blacksands bazaar, but we'll have to jump. A heavy snow could cut tendays off of our time, and we're shaving it close enough as it is."

With that, Katriana turned to go. She came up short as she nearly walked into another halfling. Her eyebrows lifted. "What in the hells are you standing here for, Birgan?" she asked sharply. "Don't you have work to do?"

The other halfling mumbled something unintelligible.

"Well, if you're so worried about it, see to it yourself!" Katriana strode off, shaking her head. "Those boys," I heard her mutter. "Don't know why I even keep them on the payroll."

The halfling called Birgan stayed where he was. For some reason, he was staring at me in a really off-putting way. Maybe it was the way his cheek kept twitching. Or maybe it was his hair. It was as orange as a carrot, and it stuck out from his head like a boot brush.

Or maybe – and this was a growing option – it was the heavy weaponry. This Birgan had a bandolier of daggers across his chest, a spring-loaded crossbow stuffed under his belt, and an axe strapped across his back. It was taller than he was. I didn't know how he could lift it, much less swing it, but I wasn't about to ask, for fear that he might just give me a demonstration.

The silence started to make my skin prickle uncomfortably. I shifted uneasily. "Can I…help you?" I asked warily.

Birgan let out a low, wordless growl.

I was contemplating flight when a slightly taller halfling appeared at Birgan's shoulder. The newcomer blinked at us curiously. He was a redhead, like Birgan, but he was chipmunk-cheeked and freckled, and his hair was more moplike than bristly.

"What is it, Birgan? Cat got your…oh!" The newcomer looked up and flashed me a sunny smile. He tugged his forelock at me. "Hello there, my lady, and welcome!" he said cheerfully. "Are you one of the new recruits?"

I blinked. "I guess you could say that," I said bemusedly. A third redhead had joined us. Now there were two Birgans. The second one had a hand-and-a-half sword instead of a battleaxe, but otherwise, I couldn't even begin to tell them apart. Both of them were staring at me. "Uh. Is there some kind of a problem?"

"Problem?" The talkative halfling clutched at his heart and glanced around wildly. "No! Is there? What problem?"

This wasn't going well. I looked around for rescue, but everyone seemed to be busy doing important caravan-related things. I was on my own. "Your friend," I said. "He seems a little, uh, upset."

"Who? My fri-" The halfling's face brightened with sudden comprehension. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "You mean my brother! Oh, don't pay him any mind, my lady. He's just been having a bad morning-" The first Birgan interrupted him with another mumble. "Yes, well, we all wish we could be so fortunate, Birgan." The halfling sighed. Then his beaming smile came back, popping up irresistibly like a weeble toy. "Here, allow me to introduce myself," he enthused. He stepped forward and shook my hand like a terrier worrying a rat. "My name is Furtan," he said brightly. "And this is my brother Birgan," he said, gesturing to one of the other redheads, who growled wordlessly, "…and this is my other brother Birgan." The other one stared at me expressionlessly.

I tried to rally. "Really? Wow," I babbled desperately. "So you guys must be twins, huh? That's…that's great. Really great." I sounded stupid, even to myself, but I was about to cross a desert with these guys and I didn't want to wake up one morning with an axe in my forehead.

At somewhat of a loss, I looked up.

I thought I saw someone I recognized. He was standing a few paces behind Furtan and the Birgans.

Torias met my eyes and snapped off a mocking salute.

Then he twirled his finger around his ear, mouthing something that it took me a moment to decipher.

 _Coo-coo,_ I translated. One corner of my mouth quirked upward. I yanked it back down.

Then I leaned forward confidentially. "Excuse me," I said. "It's been fun, but I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere. I'll catch you later, all right?" I raised a hand in acknowledgement of Furtan's farewell. Then I strode away as quickly as politely possible, my scale mail jingling with every step.

Torias was waiting for me. He had glossy dark hair caught in a topknot and a mischievous smirk that would have been charming on a taller man, but on him just gave him the look of a schoolboy up to no good. "Well, well," he said, and tipped the brim of an imaginary hat at me. He looked me up and down. His eyes were a blue so dark that they were nearly black. "If it isn't the finest lady this side of the Moon Pass. Left your half-orc bodyguard behind, did you, now?"

"He isn't my bodyguard."

"Oh? So you're saying that you've got an opening for the post, eh?" He put a special emphasis on _opening,_ which I considered especially brave of him, given that I had close to three feet on him and I was leaning nonchalantly on an enchanted zalantar staff that probably couldn't shock him but could _definitely_ give him a splitting headache.

I lifted a deeply skeptical eyebrow. "I can guard my own body just fine, thanks."

"Nonsense. With a body like yours, you'd need a platoon to guard it properly."

Against my better judgment, I laughed. "I thought I already told you to stop hitting on me," I scolded.

"It was stopping others from hitting on you that I thought I'd be doing."

"Your altruism is an inspiration to us all, I'm sure." My tone was bone-dry.

"Who said anything about altruism?" The halfling grinned cheekily. "Dear lady, you are wise enough to know that nothing in this world comes for free," he chided.

The corners of my lips curled up in a catlike smirk. "You ever heard of the Blumenthals?" I asked.

The halfling quirked an eyebrow at me. "I am afraid not," he confessed.

I clapped a hand on his back, grinning when he staggered slightly. "Well, you have now," I said. "And take it from me – a Blumenthal woman never worries about the price." I thought about it. "Not that this means I'm taking you up on your offer," I hastened to add.

He shrugged. "I'll change your mind," he promised.

"Unlikely. I don't date men whom I might crush accidentally."

"I like a challenge."

"You'd have an easier time trying to seduce Xanos."

The halfling gave an elaborate shudder. "Gods have mercy," he pleaded, raising his hands to the sky.

 _Not mine. He'd probably just get a kick out of the whole thing,_ I thought. Then I wondered why the hell I'd thought something like _that_ , and scowled. "So, what should we expect from the Anauroch?" I asked, switching subjects abruptly. "I've never been."

Torias pursed his lips pensively. "Sand," he said. "Heat. Sunstroke. Sand. Lizards. Bedine. Sand. Rocks. And did I mention sand?"

I threw my head back and laughed. "You sound like you hate the place," I remarked.

He gave me a glum, sideways glance. "You will, too," he sighed. "Trust me. You will."

A cry came down the wagon line. "We're moving, boys and girls!" Katriana bellowed. For such a small woman, she had a mighty pair of lungs. "If you're not on a wagon in the next five minutes, you're walking all the way to Blacksands, I'm warning you!"

Torias swung up onto a wagon stoop, as lightly and soundlessly as a cat. I pulled myself up with a lot more jingling and scraping and a lot less grace. "So why go, if the desert's such a hellhole?" I asked curiously.

The halfling cocked his head thoughtfully. "Fun," he said. "Profit. To see what's on the other side." He flashed a quicksilver grin. "But mostly, I'd have to say profit."

I'd heard of nobler motivations for exploration. Then again, most of them had been voiced by people who really were after profit, in the end, so I couldn't hold Torias's frankness against him. Better an honest thief than a dishonest philanthropist, I figured.

Axles groaned, wheels creaked, and the wagon lurched to life. "We're moving!" Torias announced. His eyes gleamed with an anticipation that stirred something in me I'd thought long-dead.

It had been a long time since I'd last seen a desert. I remembered what it had been like – the sauna-like heat, the sweet, dusty taste of the air, and, above all, the searing blue skies.

 _I wonder what's on the other side,_ I mused. Who knew? Maybe it would be something worth seeing. I was getting tired of the mountains, anyway.

The wagons began to pull away. I looked behind us, to where Hilltop's gates stood open.

A stocky shape stood silhouetted against the snow, leaning against a gnarled old cane.

As I watched, the old dwarf lifted his hand in a farewell.

My vision blurred. On an impulse, I lifted Silent Partner high above my head in a wordless salute.

I couldn't see my teacher's face clearly, but I didn't need to. I knew that he was smiling.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: A small cookie goes to anyone who can spot the extreme foreshadowing in this chapter. ;)

_As we traveled blindly the road became so thick_  
_No chance to change direction and we've laughed until we're sick_  
_Now I keep company with wicked evil men_  
_My generosity's brimming but I'm still inclined to sin_  
_My friends think I am crazy and I know that may be so_  
_But I'm as happy with a penny as coffers full of gold_

_The undergrowth has parted now, the path is easily read_  
_It's lined with all the doubters regretting all they've said_  
_God bless all the dreamers and those who lead with soul_  
_For how can you know virtue 'less you fought out of a hole_  
_And so for all of you I say, don't miss the forest for all the trees_  
_And don't ever question honor among thieves_

_Trickle of a chuckle as laughter starts to pour_  
_Bells begin to jingle, the trickle's now a roar_  
_Pan floutist, cloven dancer_  
_The mischief has begun_  
_Laugh with me if it's funny, laugh at me if it's fun_  
_And I don't know St. Peter, but I know he believes_  
_There's a place in heaven for jesters, dreamers & thieves_

_\- Edwin McCain, "Jesters, Dreamers & Thieves"_

* * *

 

The mountains became foothills, and the foothills became plains.

The halflings were friendly almost to a fault, and they chattered like a bunch of magpies.

They cornered Xanos and me that first night, after everyone had gathered around the campfire to eat.

I had found a seat on the nearest wagon stoop and settled down to tackle a bowl of stew when a halfling with messy brown hair and a sharply pointed nose plopped down next to me.

"Well met! M'name's Nolen!" the halfling announced without preamble. He shot me an ingratiating grin. "I hear tell that you and the greenskin have been slaying dragons and uncovering priceless artifacts and doing other things of an adventurous nature, m'lady. Care to regale us with a few tales of your exploits?"

The chatter stopped. A dozen pairs of eyes fell on me.

I hesitated. I felt like I was back in the press room again, except that this time no one was asking me to describe policy initiatives or explain why my boss had thought that letting his ex-mistress take pictures of him naked and chained to his hotel bed had been a good idea. This time, they were asking about _me_.

I'd never dealt with this kind of thing before. I'd always been a window for others to look through – maybe a window whose glass was tinted and warped in order to hide what was going on behind it, but a window all the same. First I'd been a window onto the Blumenthal family – sure, some had tried to cast me as some kind of ingénue, or more commonly some kind of disastrous embarrassment to the lineage, but mostly, I was just a way for onlookers to indulge their curiousity, a little peek into a world that they thought they wanted to know more about. After that, I'd been a window onto city politics, the gatekeeper who guarded mayoral secrets with a sphinx smile and a churning gut.

Now, I felt like a picture on display, something that people were looking _at_ rather than _through,_ and I felt unexpectedly self-conscious about it _._

I looked up and met Xanos's eyes. _Don't bail and make me deal with this alone, you bastard,_ I thought at him fervently. "Xanos?" I asked brightly. "Why don't you share your version of what happened?"

He looked back at me blandly. "Oh, no," he demurred. "You are far better at telling tall tales than Xanos. He must decline."

 _God damn it_. _I'll get you for this, sorcerer._ One day, when he least expected it – pow! Right in the kisser. "That's a likely story," I growled.

He smirked at me and turned away, leaving me to deal with the importunate halfling on my own. I swallowed and looked down at Nolan's hopeful, upturned face. He looked like a chipmunk waiting for a nut. "Word travels fast around here," I observed.

Nolan laughed. "Are you joking? We're halflings, m'lady!" He gestured at the gathered caravaners with his fork. "And don't you believe anyone who tells you that we don't gossip just like a bunch of old hens. Because we do."

"That's the truth," Katriana agreed mildly, looking up. She had a bowl balanced on one knee and a ledger on the other. "Sometimes I think that you lot know what's in our books even before I do."

"She has a point," Furtan spoke up thoughtfully. "There was that time in Sundabar-"

A collective wince passed over the faces of the halfling crew – except for Katriana's, which sharpened into a glare

"Hsst," Nolan whispered urgently. "Don't mention Sundabar!"

"What?" Torias asked innocently. "Why, surely you can't be referring to that little spot of trouble we had with the Stone Shields!"

Xanos snorted. "No one ever has a _spot_ of trouble with the Stone Shields," he said drily, folding his arms over his chest. "What did you do? 'Forget' a bill of lading? Offload the contents of another merchant's cart?"

"It was all a grave misunderstanding, and nothing we've any need to speak of here," Katriana said quellingly, fixing Torias with a hard glare.

"Aye, I've always said that the Stone Shields are poorly named," Nolan snickered. "A name like the Stone Skulls would suit 'em better." He wriggled closer to me and gazed up at me beseechingly. "But why are we wasting our time blathering about that? C'mon, m'lady! If the greenskin ain't talking, you'll just have to give us the whole story yourself!"

Spoons banged against bowls. "Hear, hear!" Torias said heartily. He shot me a wink. "Don't be shy, Legs. None of the rest of us are."

I raised my eyebrows at him. " _Legs_?" I repeated with a slight edge to my voice.

"Just a harmless endearment, my, er, dear." He smiled at me, his dark eyes limpid with innocence. "Pay it no mind."

"I didn't plan to," I said blandly. Shaking my head, I ran my hands through my hair and wondered where to start.

 _At the beginning, I guess,_ I mused, and said, "Well, it all started when a bunch of kobolds broke into our Master's house and stabbed him with a poisoned dagger-"

I'd never had such a rapt audience. I wasn't about to credit it to my story telling abilities – more likely it was just the story itself.

As I heard myself recount what had happened, I found myself growing more and more bemused by my own words. At the time, it had seemed deranged and terrifying to bargain with a white dragon or confront a half-elven, half-demon sorceress. Looking back, though, I felt the thrill of remembered adrenaline, and a glow of pride that I'd come through it all alive and more or less in one piece. Had I really done all that, or had it all been a dream? It felt so unreal, but I was here, and so was Xanos, so it had to have happened.

The crowd broke into cheers and scattered applause when I got to the part about J'Nah's death. "Good job on you for slayin' that fiendling wench!" a chubby, goateed halfling called from his stool beside Katriana's wagon.

My smile went sour. "It was mostly just luck," I said with a shrug. "But I'll tell you one thing - if I ever meet another tiefling, I'm running first and asking questions later."

"Aw, c'mon!" Nolan protested. He made stabbing motions with an imaginary dagger. "Don't run! Just skewer that evil tiefling right in the kneecap! That's what I'd do."

"You?" Someone else guffawed. "You'd piss yourself purple if one o' them crossed your path, me boyo."

Nolan sniffed. "I never said that I wouldn't run right afterwards," he said huffily. "That's why you get them in the kneecap. So they can't chase you, see?"

From there the story segued into an argument about the merits of kneecapping the enemy and running versus hamstringing the enemy and running, and then versus robbing him blind and then running. I thought I saw a pattern there, but I can't say that I blamed the halflings for their less than sporting methods. Fair fights were for people like Magda and Xanos, who had overwhelming brute force at their disposal. Me and the halflings, we had to be a little more circumspect, or we'd get our asses handed to us on a platter.

When it came to circumspection, though, there was at least one person who had us all beat.

We were a few days outside of Hilltop when one of the guards made a discovery.

"We found him hiding under one of the wagons," the halfling explained. He had a hand around his captive's scrawny arm, and though his grip wasn't strong, he seemed to be the only thing that was holding our stowaway upright. "What d'you think we should with him, Mistress Katriana?"

Deekin's beady eyes darted back and forth. They settled on me and lit up hopefully. "Er. Hi, lady," he said. He tried an ingratiating grin. "You be happy to see Deekin again – right?"

I stared at him. "Let's open negotiations on 'surprised' and see where we go from there, shall we?" I said. Then, "Deekin…I realize that I may regret asking this, but _what the hell are you doing here_?"

His story - of his newfound freedom from Tymofarrar, of his confusion on having the whole wide world laid out before him, and then his fear on becoming lost in the mountains and relief on finding us and following us in the hopes of finding somewhere to stay, where nice people would accept a little kobold who was willing to do anything, really, he made a great rat stew, would we like to try it? - would have moved anyone but the most hard-hearted soul.

Unfortunately for Deekin, the camp was full of hard-hearted souls.

"Arrow bait," Xanos grunted. "Xanos says that we should strap the lizard to a target and use him to draw enemy fire."

"Really? I say we ought to give the little fellow a crossbow and see how well he shoots," Torias said impishly. His eyes were alight with laughter. "Mind you, I'll be watching from about twenty paces behind him. Don't worry, greenskin. You can stay out front."

Katriana fingered the heavy dagger at her belt. "Isn't there _anything_ useful you can do?" she demanded of the little kobold.

Deekin fidgeted uneasily. "Er," he said. "Um. Deekin can turn himself half-invisible, which isn't as good as all-invisible but pretty good for running away from things." He scratched the side of his snout pensively, his talons rasping against his scales. "He can run away really good, too. Wanna see?"

"Maybe later." Katriana sighed. "What else?"

"Deekin can…er. He can tell jokes? Maybe? Like…" His reptilian face scrunched up in thought. "What you call a fly without wings?" he asked.

There was silence among the merchant company. We all exchanged glances. "All right," Torias said eventually. "I'll bite. What _do_ you call a fly without wings?"

"A walk!" Deekin grinned nervously. "Get it?"

The camp went silent. An involuntary splutter of laughter escaped me. I clapped a hand over my mouth.

Xanos gave me a long-suffering, incredulous glance. "Do not tell Xanos that you found that funny," he growled.

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Oh, come on," I protested, somewhat unintelligibly. Deekin was giggling. It was a ridiculous, raspy _schnee-schnee_ noise, and it wasn't helping me keep my composure any. "Pull the stick out of your ass and laugh a little, Xanos. It'll do you good."

Katriana placed her hands on her hips and subjected me to a measuring stare. She pursed her lips. "Fine," she said. "If you think he's so funny, _you_ can figure out what to do with him." She gestured at her guard, who deposited the nervous little kobold at my feet. "He's your responsibility now. Try to keep him out of too much trouble, would you?"

With that authoritative pronouncement, the meeting, as they say, broke up.

The crowd dispersed, leaving me alone with Deekin.

The little lizard and I stared at each other – him hopefully, and me dismayed.

Deekin stared up at me. He'd dropped into his usual posture, which was halfway between a nervous crouch and a cower. "So, er," he said eventually. "Guess you be Deekin's new boss now, huh?"

After a few moments of enduring his hopeful, kicked-puppydog expression, I sighed and looked away. "I guess so," I said glumly. I beckoned for him to follow me. "Well, come on if you're coming along," I added, resigned. "I think I need to hit Torias up for a drink."

In all honesty, though, Deekin wasn't that bad.

Okay, so he followed me around like a puppy, and he insisted on calling me his boss despite all of my attempts to get him to stop, and his voice had a certain nails-on-chalkboard quality to it, even at the best of times.

But he told horrible, groanworthy jokes that made me laugh, albeit guiltily, he was an attentive listener, and, once I'd bribed Katriana into giving me a few books for Deekin to read, he spent countless hours each day curled up in one corner of the wagon with a book open on his lap, as happy as a clam – that is, until he ran into an unfamiliar word. Then he pestered me for its meaning, which made me wish that one of the books Katriana had had on her was a dictionary.

The little guy seemed to be a little different from the other kobolds I'd run into. Then again, I didn't know much about kobolds beyond what I'd been taught. Maybe they were all like this. Maybe they were like anyone else – sometimes they did terrible things because they were thoughtless or because someone bigger than them had told them to do it, but that didn't make them evil. It just made them people.

When Deekin wasn't reading, he turned out to be competent enough on the lute. Better yet, he turned out to be more than willing to learn whatever songs I cared to teach him. He had a terrible singing voice, but then, I had a terrible ear for pitch, so our collaboration worked out surprisingly well.

Katriana burst into our shared wagon one afternoon while I was trying to nap. She was glowering. "What _is_ this stairway to heaven nonsense that kobold of yours keeps yammering about?" she demanded.

My eyes opened. "Good afternoon to you, too," I said mildly. "How's things?"

"Oh, don't give me that." She pointed a stern finger at me. "Make him stop. I can't have him caterwauling like that at all hours of the day. What if he leads a group of bandits straight to us?"

I yawned and stretched indolently, my sleep-fogged brain taking its time to process the caravan leader's words. I didn't rush it. I knew the delay would annoy Katriana, and a little annoyance was only fair, after she'd gone and ruined my nap. "Katriana, Katriana," I chided eventually, sitting up and massaging the back of my neck. "Let's be realistic here. Do you seriously think that anyone who's heard Deekin sing would actually want to get _closer_ to him?"

She scowled uncertainly. "If you're wrong, the cost is coming out of your hide," she warned.

I stood – carefully, because the ceilings in these wagons were made for much shorter people than me – and clapped her on the back, smiling sweetly. "I know it," I said, and left. If I couldn't have my nap, I might as well find some other, more productive ways of occupying my time.

That same afternoon, I took Deekin aside and taught him a new song.

"Can't buy me looo-ooove," the kobold wailed with gusto that evening after dinner, strumming on his sagging-stringed lute. "Everybody tells me so/Can't buy me looooo-oooove, no no no no-"

It was a pretty free-form rendition of the song, but I kind of liked it – especially the part where Katriana stuffed her ears with cotton wadding and went to bed early.

The entire caravan liked that part, too, and there were toasts all 'round to the little kobold whose music had overcome the woman whom Torias fondly referred to as, 'Cousin Blackheart'. Deekin's grin nearly split his head in half.

The road rolled ever on and on. Days passed, and the heat grew more and more stifling. We passed the days inside the wagons, and the nights gathered around the campfire. Torias played a mean harmonica, Birgan-with-the-axe was surprisingly good as percussion, and as long as Deekin didn't sing, he was always good for accompaniment on his lute. His long-fingered hands were agile on the lutestrings, and his claws functioned like built-in picks.

I didn't sing. I tried, once, and after that Torias offered to pay me not to. Pretty much the same thing happened when it was my turn to do the cooking. I was a little hurt, but philosophical. Sometimes it really did pay to be bad at some things.

Eventually, the land opened up before us, and the horizon stretched out as flat as the sea. We'd reached the edge of the deadlands.

Blacksands was named for the fine silt that veiled all of our clothes in something like onyx-dust each time the wind blew. It was a tent city, teeming with merchants who lounged outside their stalls and watched the passersby with sharp, eager eyes. I bought a bag of candied mirtilberries, which tasted like tart-sweet little blueberries and popped when I bit down on them.

We picked up a guide in Blacksands, a dark-skinned guy by the name of Zidan. He had a wide white smile and wore the robe and keffiyah of a Bedouin tribesman, though the name he gave for his people was Bedine, which made me wonder if there'd been more crossover between his world and mine that I'd originally thought. After all, I'd walked into one portal, entirely by accident. Who was to say that the same thing hadn't happened to someone else before me?

Thoughtfully, I left Katriana and Zidan tapping their fingers on a map and arguing over trade routes. I strolled away to find some shade. It was starting to get hot.

There was something of an altercation going on. "Looks like the greenskin's startin' to wilt," Nolan remarked to the halfling who was lounging next to him. He grinned cheekily at Xanos.

The half-orc glowered. "Ha-ha. Such wit from the pipsqueak," he growled. "Xanos will remember to laugh when a desert bird swoops in to carry you off as a very tiny snack."

"I was wondering what that smell was," the other halfling drawled. "Now I know. It's half-baked half-orc."

"Hope it's not our dinner. I'd hate to see that staring out at me from the stewpot." They both laughed.

I wasn't sure if the flush on Xanos's cheeks was from the heat or from the halflings' needling. "Laugh all you want, you insouciant little rodents," the sorcerer snarled. "It does not matter. Your mockey earns you nothing but the privilege of being among the first against the wall when Xanos reaches his true power."

"What power's that, stink-beetle?" Nolan retorted. "The power to knock over an ox at twenty paces?"

The halflings' laughter ended in yelps as gouts of flame erupted from the ground beneath their feet.

Xanos stood. "The power to still the tongues of buffoons," he rasped. He stalked away.

I stared after him. Then I stared at Nolan. "What the hell was that for?" I demanded.

He stomped out a stubborn tongue of flame, and then squinted up at me, confused. "What was what for?"

I was suddenly, unreasonably angry. "You know what I mean," I said harshly. "Christ. If you want to insult him, at least insult him for something that's actually his own fault. I've got a little news flash for you - no one gets to choose their own parents." I shook my head. "What are you, a bunch of infants?" I muttered. Then I stormed away while Nolan was still trying to pull his jaw up from the ground.

I found Xanos standing well outside of the wagon circle. He was staring down at the glittering black sand at his feet and scowling.

I walked up to his side. I didn't say much, just noticed that his shoulders were slumped and he had a dull look in his golden eyes.

I was used to being irritated by Xanos's habitual sneer. He sneered, I scowled back, we both got annoyed. It was sort of a ground state for both of us whenever we were within less than fifty feet of one another.

Now I was feeling irritated because he _wasn't_ sneering, and it seemed all wrong that he should be looking like that just because some twit of a halfling couldn't leave well enough alone.

I uncorked my waterskin and held it out to him. "Here," I said curtly. "Drink this before you pass out from heatstroke."

That brought some life back to his eyes. He lifted his head and glared at me. "Xanos does not need the charity of an arrogant noblewoman," he snapped at me irritably.

I didn't move. "It's not charity," I said caustically. "It's me not wanting to carry your heavy-ass carcass back to camp in this heat."

His glare turned quizzical. "Fine," he said ungraciously, and snatched the waterskin from my hand. "But you must know that you are a very poor nursemaid."

"Yeah. I know. Shitty bedside manner."

"Indescribably so."

He drank. I scuffed my booted toe in the dirt. The suede was turning from tan to black. I'd have to clean it. "They were way out of line," I said abruptly, not looking up. "I mean, you're a massive pain in the ass, don't get me wrong." I cleared my throat. "But the whole smelly half-orc thing – that was just juvenile. Hell, you probably bathe more often than all of them do put together."

Xanos was quiet for a while. "Xanos is glad that you see the wisdom of siding with him," he said eventually. "But he will thank you for not making further observations about his personal hygiene."

I hoped that no one was overhearing this conversation. "No problem."

"Excellent."

We stood in silence. Xanos wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and took another gulp of water. "Can you not conjure up a breeze to lessen this damnable heat?" he grumbled.

I opened my mouth. Then I closed it again. "I have no idea," I said. "I've never tried."

He looked down his nose out me. "The only way to know is to try," he said sententiously.

"So?"

"So try, woman! Shar's Breath, must you be so bloody-minded?"

I bristled. "You make it sound so easy," I said scathingly.

He gave me a sly sidelong glance. "What?" he asked. "Are you incapable? Is that it?" He sneered. "Or are you frightened?"

 _That_ did it. I drew in a deep breath. The ever-ready tingle spread throughout my body. Sand hissed over my boots, stirred by a breath of air. "I'll give you a breeze, all right," I said from between clenched teeth. "I'll knock you off your fucking feet."

The sorcerer sneered again and folded his arms, assuming an air of cynical anticipation. "Xanos would like to see you try," he drawled.

That was it. That was _it_. I'd wipe that smug bastard's grin right off his face.

I turned around. Energy rose into my throat, sharing the space with anger. I released it all with a wordless shout. _Something_ white-hot boiled out of me, and I hurled it off into the distant sky.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a few whorls of sand danced by us, picking up by a rising gust.

I looked up. The few wispy clouds that there were in the sky overhead were starting to move.

Xanos snorted. "Is that all?" he asked in bored tones. "Xanos expected a better showing."

I stared past him. "Uh," I said uncertainly.

He furrowed his forehead. "What?"

I pointed at the wall of black that was heading in our direction. Another dust-laden gust of wind blew my hair back. "Run," I said succinctly.

Then I suited action to words. Dragging the bewildered half-orc along after me, I took to my heels.

Then the edge of the sandstorm caught up with us, and the world was swallowed up in a stinging black haze.


	24. Chapter 24

_Day after day,_   
_Alone on the hill,_   
_The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still,_   
_But nobody wants to know him,_   
_They can see that he's just a fool,_   
_And he never gives an answer,_   
_But the fool on the hill_   
_Sees the sun going down,_   
_And the eyes in his head,_   
_See the world spinning 'round._

_And nobody seems to like him_   
_They can tell what he wants to do._   
_And he never shows his feelings,_   
_But the fool on the hill_   
_Sees the sun going down,_   
_And the eyes in his head,_   
_See the world spinning 'round._

_\- The Beatles, "Fool on the Hill"_

* * *

 

We staggered into the questionable shelter of the wagons, hacking up dust from our sand-choked throats and shaking great showers of sand from our clothes.

The others weren't doing much better. The wagons looked like they'd just been spray-painted by a manic-depressive graffiti artist who was on the downswing. Everyone and everything was covered in a layer of fine, sooty black.

Katriana strode by in a swish of skirts. Her white dress had turned black, and her face was smudged. "I want a head count, on the double! Nolan, Furtan, calm those damned oxen! Torias, check the wagons for damage!" she shouted. "Everyone, I want to see your bright and shining faces – and if someone can tell me what in the hells just happened, I want an explanation yesterday!" She clapped her hands sharply. "Move, people!"

Then she turned. She was coming our way, though she hadn't yet seen us. If she did, she was bound to ask inconvenient questions which I, personally, didn't feel prepared to answer at this point in time.

Xanos and I looked at each other. We shared a moment of wordless communion.

Then we both ducked behind the nearest wagon.

There was a door. "In here," Xanos said curtly. He hustled me up the stairs. I pulled the door shut behind us.

Then we stared at each other mutely. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that were once again streaming through the wagon's high, small windows.

After a few moments, Xanos's shoulders began to shake. He buried his face in one huge hand. I heard a muffled, erratic snorting noise.

I gaped at him, open-mouthed. "What's wrong-" I began to ask.

Xanos took his hand away from his face, and I realized, right before his guffaws bent him double, that he was laughing. "Perhaps," he gasped out in between what I could only describe as fits of the giggles, "…perhaps…your control…needs…some fine-tuning…"

I blinked at him. My lips twitched. I wasn't sure whether to laugh along with the bastard or kick him in the shin, so all I said was, "You think?"

The half-orc subsided into chortles. "Did the dwarf never teach you how to focus your spellcasting properly?" he asked eventually.

I blinked again and rubbed my sand-stung eyes. "No," I said. "I guess he didn't see the need." I grimaced. "He tried to teach me to cast a few basic, uh, what do you call them? Can...canter...uh..."

"Cantrips," Xanos supplied, with unusual mildness.

I snapped my fingers. "That's the word, thank you, _cantrips_...anyway, he tried to teach me, but...well, I didn't seem to have the knack." _Didn't have the knack_ was the understatement of the century. As soon as Drogan tried to explain magical theory to me, my eyes glazed over, and if I tried to cast something, it didn't even fizzle – fizzling was something that happened after a spark caught. My sparks never even caught in the first place. I was to the Weave what asbestos was to fire.

"Strange. Drogan is a wise dwarf. He should have known-" The sorcerer trailed off.

I looked away. "He did," I said. "Apparently." I shrugged. "He said that this…whatever it is had to start happening naturally, and the only way to do that was not to tell me, so I wouldn't overthink it."

Xanos looked at me for a long moment. To my surprise, he didn't take the opportunity to point out how thinking wasn't my strong point - didn't even seem inclined to. Maybe the dust storm had temporarily scoured his edge off. "Perhaps," he said at last. "All the same, Xanos...will admit that he would have been happier if someone had warned _him,_ before..." he trailed off. Some struggle seemed to be going on inside his head, manifesting itself in a few aborted attempts at speech. When he finally did speak, his tone was brisk, businesslike. "For whatever reason, you have been favored with a small portion of divine power. You know this," he said. It wasn't a question.

I blinked and shrugged my shoulders uncomfortably. "Yeah," I said. "So?"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Sorcerous power can have many origins," he said abruptly. "A drop of draconic blood. Fae ancestry. A demon in the family tree. Accidental exposure to wild magic."

My frown deepened, and I looked sharply at Xanos, intrigued. "So what's yours?" I asked curiously.

He shrugged. "Does it matter?" he asked rhetorically. "The origins are different, and may effect the overall nature of the sorcerer's magic – fae blood often confers a certain talent for illusion, for example, and demonic blood carries an affinity for fire - but the principles are the same." He stabbed a finger at me. " _Your_ power may not be Weave-based _or_ inherent to your bloodline, but the principles remain the same," he said. "Now that it is within you, it is _your_ will which harnesses it, _your_ mind which shapes it. Just as it is my will and my mind which shapes my own power."

I frowned at him. "Are you telling me that this…this thing I can do…is like yours?" I asked slowly.

"It is…similar. In principle." Xanos crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, then recrossed them, scowling. "Similar enough, perhaps, that…bah! This is ridiculous. There can be no doubt. You must learn, before you inadvertently kill us all." He pointed an imperious finger at me. "Sit," he commanded. I sat, too bewildered to protest. He sat down across from me, cross-legged.

Then he stared at me. "Now," he said, and lifted his hand. A tongue of green witchfire appeared in the air above his open palm. "Empty your mind of all thought." He gave me a toothy smirk, and this time, he didn't resist making a dig at me. "Not to worry. Such a thing should come easily to you."

Anger flared. "Shut up, you fat-headed warthog," I snapped, and rose to my feet. "And here I was almost listening to you! I don't even know what possessed me-"

" _Sit_ ," the half-orc barked. "Or can you not control your anger that much? Hmm?" He glared at me, his beetle brows drawing down. "Do you so soon admit to failure?"

My spine stiffened. I bared my teeth at him and sat down so hard that my jaws clacked together.

I'd show him. I'd show him if it was the last thing I did. "Fuck you," I said bluntly. "No one talks like that to a Blumenthal, you hear me? No one."

The sorcerer snickered at me. His eyes gleamed like a cat's in the firelight. "Obstinate, arrogant wench," he said.

I gave him my most indolent, icy stare – the kind that said he was so far beneath my notice that he didn't even show up on sonar. The effect was somewhat ruined by the inexorable upward twitching at the corners of my lips. "Pigheaded, pompous jackass," I drawled.

Xanos grinned at me. "Just so," he said. He lifted his hand. "Now, steel your thoughts and focus, woman. We have a great deal of catching up to do."


	25. Chapter 25

Dust motes danced in the air. The interior of the wagon grew stifling, dreamlike.

Xanos's cadence droned on and on. "Look into the flame," he murmured in the dim heat. "You are within the flame. The flame is within you…"

His voice was like the sleepy, maddening buzz of a fly against a windowpane. "Your heart contains the flame. Your will commands it. Your mind shapes it. You are within the flame. The flame is within you…"

I tried to empty my mind, like the sorcerer said, but my thoughts chased themselves in circles and never seemed to settle in one place.

The half-orc's fingers snapped impatiently beneath my nose. "Focus!" he barked. "Cyric's Codpiece, woman! How will you ever learn control if you have not yet learned to _focus_?"

I was angry. This was impossible, and I said as much. Drogan had tested my magical ability. I was as mundane as a very mundane stump, and no amount of meditation was going to change that.

"Idiocy," Xanos said, unsympathetic. "Your power may be divine rather than magical, but it works in the same manner as Xanos's…and nothing is impossible to those with the insight to envision the opportunities and the power to seize them. Nothing! The only limit is your will." Then he pointed a finger at me. "Now focus, you stubborn woman! You are above such petty limitations! Xanos will see you conquer this yet!"

Frustration and the oppressive desert heat turned my blood to steam. The sorcerer's voice never relented. "You are within the flame," he said. "The flame is within you. Your heart contains it. Your will commands it. You are the flame..."

Deekin huddled in the corner, sometimes, watching us with his long, spindly hands loosely clasped around his legs. "It be easy, boss," he told me at one point. "Look, you just sing to the light until it comes to you, like this," he said, and hummed a few scratchy notes. A luminous globe popped into existence above his head.

That got a scowl from Xanos. "I cannot believe it," he growled. "A kobold spellcaster? I _will_ not believe it."

"Hey, they say that kobolds got dragon blood," Deekin piped up defensively. "Maybe one day little Deekin gots as much power as the big green man!"

Xanos snorted. "Your power is to Xanos's as a thimbleful of seawater is to the ocean," he said scornfully. "You may stop speaking now, lizard. You are irritating Xanos." He ignored the bobbing magelight above Deekin's palm. It glowed a cool, steady blue, persisting despite all expectations.

Deekin may have been in tune with his abilities, but that didn't help me any. The only time I seemed to be able to do anything was this power was by accident, usually in a fit of panic. Whenever I actually _thought_ about what I was doing, that tingle just stayed lodged in my chest, doing nothing but existing.

It was dark again by the time we stopped for the day, and I stumbled out of the wagon, my head aching and my temper foul.

Katriana and Zidan had spread a map out on a rickety folding table. They were arguing again.

"First you say that we'll find an oasis past the edge of the Dune Sea, and now you're telling me that the waterways have all dried up?" the halfling woman asked incredulously. "Are you seriously trying to suggest-"

The guide made a placating gesture. "I suggest only that we proceed with caution, Mistress Katriana," he said in his soft, liquid tones. "The desert is a living thing, but it speaks only in whispers. It is wise to listen carefully. These signs we have seen…they worry me."

"Yes, well, they worry me as well. We need water, Zidan. I can only cut rations so much-"

"I know, Mistress Katriana."

"Does that mean that you know what's happened to the oasis?"

The Bedine spread his hands in a helpless shrug. "I do not."

I was so engrossed in eavesdropping that I didn't even notice Torias until I'd nearly walked into him.

The halfling stepped back adroitly. "Wotcha," he said easily. Then he stopped and looked at me. "Holy Hells, Legs. What's happened? You look like you're hunting for someone to hit."

I laughed sourly. "That does sound like a good idea," I admitted. I raised my eyebrows. "Got anyone in mind?"

He gave me an appraising look. "That depends," he said archly. "Will you be gentle with me?"

"No."

His smirk widened. "Promise?"

The halfling had two short swords belted at his hip. I'd never seen him use them. I'd wondered if he could, though I'd never actually asked.

Now it looked like I might be getting an answer, whether I really wanted one or not.

Torias led me to a place just outside the wagon ring, where he stopped and turned to face me. He rested his wrists on the hilts of his swords. "All right," he said. His dark blue eyes gleamed with mischief. "Hit me."

I looked at him. He was being way too casual about this. It rang all sorts of alarm bells in my head. "Tempting," I said. "But no." I turned to leave.

I heard the slither of metal being unsheathed right before I felt a swinging thwack right across the ass.

I yelped and spun on one leg, wobbling, with Silent Partner at the ready. "What the hell?" I shouted. "What was that for?"

Torias grinned at me. He had both of his swords in his hands, and his stance was loose-shouldered, almost relaxed. "What's the matter, Legs?" he asked mockingly. "Don't you want to play with me? Why, you cut me to the quick!"

Then, while I was still formulating a reply, his left-hand sword snaked out.

I saw it coming this time. I spun my staff clockwise to slap the sword down and out of the way.

I didn't count on his second sword. _That_ one followed its twin in a sideways arc and slapped my forearm with the flat of its blade.

My hand spasmed and let go. I was left holding Silent Partner one-handed, which made it all too easy for Torias to bat it out of my hands.

I stared down at my fallen weapon. Then I stared at the halfling, who was smiling at me as sweetly as if he'd just given me a present. "How the _hell_ did you do that?" I asked eventually.

He winked. "Wouldn't you just love to know?" he taunted.

My lip curled in a soundless snarl. Keeping my eyes on the halfling, I hooked the toe of my boot beneath Silent Partner's butt-end and kicked it up into my hands. A moment later, I realized that I'd dropped into a fighting stance. I'd done so without even thinking about it. "You know I'm going to have to kick your ass now," I warned.

Torias laughed in his merry, lilting tenor. "You're free to try," he countered.

I did. Try, that is.

Torias caught my next swing on his crossed blades and closed them smartly, like a pair of scissors, forcing me to either step backwards or get my own quarterstaff in the face.

I countered by leaning back and snapping the butt-end up into the halfling's stomach – or rather, I tried. He threw his swords into the air and threw himself into a backwards somersault, hooting with laughter. Then the little bastard landed on his feet and caught his swords out of midair, as easily as if he had magnets in his palms. "Nice try, Legs," he said breathlessly, and smirked. "But no dice."

Our tempo sped up, faster and faster. Sparks flew off of the dark zalantar wood as it met steel. I began to feel alive again, and wondered how it was that I'd gone so long without ever knowing the joy of a good, honest fight. Ladies weren't supposed to do this kind of thing, but then, ladies weren't supposed to do anything _fun._

Fortunately for me, I was no lady. Not here. Not in this world. Not now, and not, I hoped suddenly, ever again.

My world narrowed to the slight tightening around my opponent's eyes, and the movements of his hands. My blood pumped through my veins. I felt my breath come smooth and fast, and felt the flex and play of muscles as I dodged and shifted and swung.

Torias was too fast. That was the problem. It was like swatting at a mosquito – somehow, he always danced out of the way, and with two weapons to defend against I spent most of my time just trying to counter whatever he threw at me.

My vision focused on the flicker of firelight on his blades. I'd been looking into tongues of flame all day, every day, with Xanos droning on and on and _on,_ and at the sight of those reflected flames, something moved within my chest, like an uncoiling spring. My mind went flat. My throat tingled. "Would you just slow _down_?" I growled.

And then, much to my surprise, he did.

This new development seemed to surprise him, too. "Oy!" he shouted, stumbling. His movements were sluggish and labored, as if he was trying to fight underwater. "That's cheating!"

I smirked at him. "It's not cheating if I win," I said, and knocked the sword out of his hand with a rap to the wrist. Then I followed it up with a roundabout swipe to the side of his knee. He hit the ground with an explosive 'whoof!'.

Furtan and the other boys had gathered 'round to watch. "Looks like you need a hand there, cousin!" Nolan called laughingly.

Torias shook his head and banged the heel of his hand against his temple. "Aye, aye!" he cried back. "To arms against the long-limbed lassie, everyone! I need reinforcements!"

Furtan grinned at me. "Sorry, m'lady, but we really ought to aid our fallen comrade," he said apologetically, and drew his dagger. "I'm sure you understand."

Then they swarmed me. Even Birgan and Birgan joined in the free-for-all, and I found myself hard-pressed to keep all of them at bay, even with my much longer reach.

Then Nolan decided to sneak up behind me and nail me in the back of the knee with his cosh.

I went down, surrounded by a bunch of hooting, giggling halflings.

I felt a little like Gulliver, after the Lilliputians had turned on him. "Now _that_ was cheating," I accused them breathlessly.

"It isn't cheating if we win," Torias returned impishly. He extended a hand, smirking. "Now, now, m'lady, you shouldn't frown so. Your face might freeze that way, and _that_ would be a tragedy."

I studied his hand thoughtfully. "No hard feelings?" I asked.

He gave me a quizzical look. "Why should there be?"

"Because of _this_ ," I said, and yanked on his hand.

Off-balance, Torias toppled over with a yelp, and before he'd fallen far I planted my foot on his chest and _shoved._

The look on his face as he catapulted over my head, trailing a scream, was one I'd have liked to frame and hang in a museum.

The halflings gaped after him. "Cor," Nolan breathed admiringly. "Now _that_ was sneaky."

I couldn't keep one corner of my mouth from quirking up into a smirk. "Thanks," I said.

Then I heard Torias's voice. "Get her, lads!" he called, in a voice that was breathless with laughter - and probably a little winded from hitting the ground so hard. "Avenge me!"

As I rose to my feet to fend off another good-natured onslaught, I realized that I was laughing, too.

It was an odd fellowship that we formed in that caravan. We were a motley crew and none of us really had much in common, but maybe that didn't matter. What we did have in common was the road and all of its many dangers, and that bred a unique camaraderie.

Maybe that was why Furtan shouted a, "'Ware your back, m'lady!" the next time Nolan snuck around to hamstring me, or why Torias spontaneously switched sides in mid-fight and started giving me pointers on how to counter Furtan's darting, weaving dagger thrusts. Maybe that was why Katriana tsked at the bruises and scrapes, but she never complained about what became a nightly ritual, and she only kvetched a little if our post-game rounds of toasts became too rowdy.

After all, we were all in this together – and it never hurt to earn a bit of good karma by helping your fellow travelers in whatever way you could. It might just come in handy someday.

The day after I had this little epiphany, I was going through my usual morning routine of subduing my footwear. First I banged my boots against the floorboards of the wagon. Then I held them upside-down and shook them vigorously. And then, if and only if no snakes, spiders, scorpions, or suspicious-looking rocks came out, did I put them on.

This time, the shaking jarred loose something which slithered out of my boot and hit the floor with a metallic jingle.

Reflexively, I shrieked and flung my boot away.

Deekin jumped like a scalded cat. His book tumbled from his hands and thumped to the floor. "What? What? What be wrong?" he yelped. "You find a nasty scorpion, boss?"

I stared at the thing that had been hiding in my boot. The dull grey metal glinted at me from the oaken floor. "No," I said. "Worse than a scorpion."

The kobold cocked his head, birdlike. He blinked his beady eyes. "Wow," he said. "What be worse than a scorpion?"

I stooped and picked up the amulet. The pointing hand on its face had become all too familiar to me. I'd known that it would find me eventually, but I'd hoped it would take longer than this. "A god," I said glumly.

Then I lifted the amulet to eye level. "So," I said to it. "You've found me again, huh?" It dangled quietly from my fingers, glinting like a quicksilver shadow in the morning sunlight. "You never give up, do you?" I couldn't help the note of grudging admiration that crept into my voice.

Deekin seemed intrigued by the amulet, so I let him have it. He scampered off eagerly, the medallion in one hand and a book in the other, and I wished him luck. He was going to need it, with that thing.

We travelled on.

The caravan passed over parched, cracked earth, where salt deposits glittered under the sun like snow. The wagons trundled beneath the bones of long-dead sea creatures, passing beneath their vacant-eyed skulls and through ribcages as wide and high as tunnels. I leaned from the wagon's stoop and let my fingers brush the old bones as we passed, wondering what the thing would have looked like when it was alive.

Not much lived in the Anauroch any more, if it ever had. Sometimes I saw birds wheeling overhead. Every so often, a lizard would scuttle over a rock, there and gone in a flicker. Otherwise, everything seemed quiet - dead quiet.

Vegetation was just as scarce. Sometimes there were cacti and scrubby, low-branching shrubs. More often, there was just a seemingly endless expanse of sand and stone and salt.

Above, there stretched an infinite sea of blue, blue skies, so hot and bright that some days I just wanted to turn my face to the sky and let it sear me to the bone. The air had a scent unique to the desert, sweetly lush at night and fragrantly earthy during the day, and it was dizzyingly clear.

We made camp one night beneath a tower of weathered sandstone, a boulder perched incongruously upon a skinny neck of stone. "It is called a zeugen," Zidan explained to me. He pointed. "It is the remnant of a great column which has been scoured by the wind and the sand for years beyond counting. Soon enough, its legs will dwindle to nothing, and its head will fall to be devoured by the sands from which it came."

It was hard to believe that this place had been an inland sea only two thousand years ago. "What happened to the ocean that used to be here?" I asked.

Zidan's eyes grew shadowed. "Netheril fell," he said. "And the phaerimm stole the desert's life in revenge for the sins of its magi." And then he clammed up. Try as I might, I couldn't get him to elaborate further.

The days sizzled, but the nights were bitingly cold.

One night, I found that I couldn't sleep, and I stepped from the wagon to get some fresh air.

The stars were clear and piercingly bright. The air was perfumed with night-blooming jasmine. A stand of the pale, lush blooms glowed white in the moonlight.

I looked up. I saw Belnimbra's belt, a chain of three stars hovering in the southeastern sky. It was the only constellation in this world that I could recognize without a chart. I watched it for a while, and though it was beautiful, it left me feeling dream-worn and homesick and more than a little lonely.

Then I turned and climbed back into the wagon, where I sat down on my bunk, hugged my pillow to my chest, and thought about how badly I wanted indoor plumbing. I wanted a flushable toilet, and a shower - a real one, with the kind of water pressure that could peel the flesh right from your bones.

Failing that, I'd settle for a cappuccino. Failing _that_ , I'd settle for one familiar sight or smell - just a little one. A chunk of asphalt, maybe, or the smell of gasoline or, hell, even the suspicious pee-smell of a subway tunnel. _Anything._

 _God. I_ really _want a pizza,_ I thought to myself forlornly. Or, better yet, some Chinese takeout. I'd _kill,_ and I mean really _kill_ , for the solace of just one teensy, humble little white container of Mr. Hu's house special lo mein.

I sat that way for the rest of the night, wrapped miserably around my pillow, feeling sorry for myself, and listening to Katriana snore until it was time to break camp and hit the road again.

Every morning, Xanos made me stare into the witchlight until my eyes blurred. He wouldn't take no for an answer. "Look into the flame," he murmured. "You are within the flame. The flame is within you. Your heart contains the flame. Your will commands it. Your mind shapes it. You are within the flame. The flame is within you…"

I lost my temper. "Fuck the fucking flame!" I erupted. White-hot power flared behind my eyes. "This is pointless! It's pure idiocy! It's-"

Whatever I was going to say next, I forgot it when a concussion of sound rocked the wagon.

The windows shuddered and cracked. A couple of them blew out, shards of glass shooting sideways like they'd just been hit with a brick.

A thunderclap ripped through the clear sky.

After a brief pause, something began to patter down on the roof of the wagon.

Xanos stood up to peer out of the window. "What is it?" I asked tensely.

He craned his neck to see upwards. "It appears to be raining," he remarked.

I started to my feet. "In the _desert_?" I asked incredulously.

"Not…exactly." He was snorting back a giggle. "It looks like a highly localized phenomenon."

He refused to explain further. "You have eyes, and it may just be possible that you have more wit than hair," he said, and I wondered whether I was dreaming or if I'd just been obliquely complimented - and by _Xanos,_ of all people. "See for yourself."

When I burst through the door and looked up, I thought I understood why.

There was a tiny cluster of dark clouds above the wagon. They were a spot of black on the otherwise pure blue sky.

Rain pattered down on the roof of our little wagon, although every other wagon was sunny and dry.

I stared up at them. "I don't believe it," I muttered. "I don't fucking believe it." Then I went back inside, slamming the door behind me.

My grumpy little thundercloud followed us for days. Katriana made me pay for the windows, though she didn't hesitate to send her crew over to collect the rainwater for our stores, which were getting low.

The caravan rolled on through the desert, sand-worn and sun-splintered. The land began to break into walls of rock, and then into sheer cliffs which we hugged whenever we could, taking shelter in their shade.

The wadis grew narrower and narrower, each oasis we stopped at was drier and drier, and the lines at the corners of Katriana's mouth pinched tighter and tighter, though she told us all not to worry.

Then the water trickled to a rivulet of mud, and then to dry and dust-choked streambeds. We soldiered on.

Parched, we arrived at last at the oasis of the Green Palm.

Zidan volunteered to go ahead and make contact with the Bedine tribesmen who lived there. "With all due respect, Mistress Katriana, if what you say is accurate - and I in no way believe that it is not - your last meeting with this tribe did not end well," he said with a slight, apologetic bow. "Perhaps it is best if I speak with them first."

She shrugged uncomfortably. "How was I to know that they'd take offense if we watered our cattle in their oasis?" she asked, her tone defensive.

Torias snickered. "Perhaps it was when you let the oxen void their bladders in the tribe's sacred waters?" he suggested. "Aye. That might have been what did it."

She shot him an icy, thin-lipped glare. "And how was I to know that the oasis was sacred?" she retorted. "None of the others are, and one oasis looks much like any other, to me."

Zidan raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I will plead your case. I am certain that they will forgive an honest mistake, as long as you make restitution and issue a sincere apology."

"I think my dear cousin would rather sit on a cactus," Torias said drily. "Hey, I have an idea! Why don't we just sell her to them and leave before they realize they've been had?"

"Shut up, cousin."

"It was only a suggestion."

"Shut up."

"Cruel, cruel woman. Won't you let your dear cousin have any fun?"

"Your _fun_ was what got me saddled with you in the first place, you dolt. If you'd only just married that poor Lilyfoot girl like your mother wanted, neither of us would be in this position."

A faint blush reddened Torias's ears. His expression turned strained. "Nevermind that," he said hastily.

"Oh, aye, you minded her well enough - right up to the point where her father threatened to nail your manhood to a tree if you didn't make an honest woman out of his little girl. If I hadn't smuggled you out of town when I did, you'd probably be a permanent part of the scenery by now."

Torias winced. "Oh," he said. "Right. Now I remember. You know, the whole unfortunate affair had nearly slipped my mind until you reminded me of it just now?"

Katriana snorted. "No doubt you drowned the memory in a keg or two of my best brandy," she said caustically.

Zidan's head was moving back and forth like that of a spectator at a tennis match. I was strongly tempted to pull up a chair and enjoy the show, myself, but the Bedine went ahead and ruined it by being all tactful. "It is getting late," he said, his face carefully blank, though his dark amber eyes gleamed with barely-suppressed laughter. "My apologies, Mistress Katriana, but I must be going. If the stories my people tell of this tribe are correct, it is best if I arrive while there is still daylight."

I straightened slightly from my indolent slouch against the wagon's wall. Something about Zidan's tone gave me a sudden chill. "Why?" I asked. "What happens at night?"

The guide's expression went shuttered and dark. "The dead of fallen Netheril return to sate their anger on the living, or so the rumors say," he replied. Then he bowed. "But do not fear. I will return with news," he promised, and touched his fingers to his lips and his heart. "I swore to guide you safely through this desert, and so I shall."

We watched him go. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Torias complained.

 _Because you're right – there's something wrong. You can feel it in the air,_ I thought, but didn't say. I didn't want to add to the tension, which was already twanging like a plucked lute string.

I turned and went to help Furtan and his brothers secure the perimeter of our little camp. It was probably just me being paranoid, but I had a strong urge to make certain that nothing would be sneaking up on us tonight.

Then I sat down in the sand, cross-legged, and rested Silent Partner across my knees.

The sun was beginning to set. It stained the western sky with sherbert orange and electric pink, with turquoise blue and deep indigo. I'd seldom seen anything so beautiful, but still the air prickled at my skin like a thousand tiny needles. I shivered.

Zidan had headed towards a deep wadi that ran between two sandstone cliffs. I turned my face in that direction and waited.

Some time into my watch, I felt a small nudge against my knee.

I looked down. Deekin was huddled against my leg. His scaly, dun-gray hide rendered him almost invisible against the sand. "When do you think Zidan be coming back, Boss?" he asked softly.

I looked away. "I don't know, Deeks," I answered honestly. "Soon, I hope."

The kobold bobbed his head nervously and crouched at my knee. Together we waited as the shadows lengthened across the wadi.

After a while, Deekin spoke again. "Uh. Boss?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Zidan not gonna be coming back, is he?"

Absent-mindedly, I stroked Silent Partner's haft, feeling the wood's reassuring warmth beneath my fingertips. "I don't know," I said at last. "I really don't."


	26. Chapter 26

As I lay sprawled in the sand with a pair of crossed scimitars at my throat, I wondered, not for the first time, why it was that shit like this kept happening to me.

I tried to swallow. Then I thought better of it, because the motion made the blades press even more closely against my skin.

"What is the meaning of this?" Xanos roared, spittle flecking his lips. His yellow eyes blazed. "Has the sun addled your brains, man? Unhand us!"

"Yeah!" Deekin agreed shrilly. He dangled, held upside-down by his Bedine captor's iron grip on the lizard's bony shank. Shaundakul's symbol dangled from the kobold's clenched fist. "Let Deekin go! Oooh, he starting to get seasick, and he not even on a boat-"

The leader of the Bedine, a man dressed in a swirling black robe and a keffiyah much like the one Zidan habitually wore, snatched the amulet from the kobold's hand and held it up high. "Is this yours, filthy creature?" he demanded of Deekin. "Is it you who follows the Treacherous Lurker in the Sands?"

The kobold's eyes darted nervously, first to me and then back to the Bedine. "Um," Deekin said hesitantly. "N-no. Deekin, er, just find it in the desert, see-"

The Bedine smiled grimly. "You are as deceitful as your god if you expect me to believe that," he scoffed. He swept his own scimitar from its sheath and laid it against the kobold's exposed throat in one smooth motion. "Now, speak truthfully, or I will water this dead earth with your blood."

" _It's not his_." I didn't recognize the croaking voice right away. Then I realized that it was mine. I wanted to move, but I was afraid I'd lose my head if I did – literally. My muscles quivered with the effort of holding perfectly still. "It's mine. Leave him-" The man holding the scimitar nudged the blade a bit further under my chin, and my sentence ended in a nervous gulp.

The Bedine leader – a man who'd introduced himself as Ali Ibn-Musud and had been cordial enough until that damned amulet had fallen out of Deekin's pockets - swept over in a swirl of robes. He held the holy symbol out towards me, as if serving me with an arrest warrant for something really vile, like murder or bestiality or jaywalking or something. "Then it is you who follows Him," he said, and his eyes glinted with hatred. "Why are you here? Has your fiendish god sent you to gloat over our defeat?"

I went even more still. "Fiendish?" I repeated incredulously, my voice strained. I would have shaken my head if I weren't so afraid that I'd accidentally decapitate myself in the process. "I think you've got the wrong god."

"Er," Deekin squeaked, still dangling awkwardly from his captor's grasp. "About that, Boss. Deekin kinda been meaning to tell you-"

I stared at the kobold. "Kinda been meaning to tell me _what_?" I asked. The words came out from between clenched teeth.

The kobold grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Boss. What with zombies and everything, it kinda slipped Deekin's mind-"

" _Then slip it back in, god damn it_." The entire conversation felt a little surreal. The Bedine were watching us warily, like spectators at a tennis match who suspected that one of the tennis balls might actually be live ordinance. They weren't making any moves to stop the conversation, but their leader hadn't told his lackeys to take their swords away from my neck, either, and that wasn't helping my mood any.

"Uh. Okay. Sure thing, Boss." The kobold blinked uneasily. "See, Deekin been reading ever since you give him the amulet. Shan…Shoon…your boss, he really old, but for a long time he been sort of…gone. You know. Kapoot."

I blinked. "Dead?" It seemed inconceivable. Immortals didn't die, by definition. They _couldn't -_ at least, not by the rules I knew, and not in the world I knew.

Then again, we weren't in that world. We were in a world where the dead could get up and walk. Maybe we were also in a world where the gods could lay down and die.

"N-no," Deekin replied slowly. "It really hard for a god to die. But, see, he live in Myth Drannor before it fell, along with lots of his worshippers, and when the demon army came, a long time ago, it kill most of his people. That not good for a god. It hurts 'em bad."

" _I treasure all of my worshippers,"_ Shaundakul had told me _._ I thought of him, roaming the ruins of Myth Drannor alone, all of his faithful dead and gone and his power diminished to almost nothing. Had he been there for all this time, a cloaked and bearded figure pacing the bones of a dead city? Or had he been reduced to nothing more than a ghost among the ruins, just a forlorn whisper in the wind? How had he come back from that? Did he grieve for his dead followers – were gods even capable of grief? Or were they beyond that kind of emotion?

The tingle of power within me pulsed in time with my heart, a constant reminder of a god and a gift I'd never even asked for. I couldn't fathom why, if Shaundakal had lost so much already, he would give some of his precious power to some poor, hapless little rich girl like me.

" _You are one of my kind_ _,"_ the god's voice whispered in my memory. _"You cannot see it, because your vision is clouded...but I, I can see what you are, Rebecca."_

Xanos was frowning thoughtfully. "Xanos has heard of this," he remarked, his tone distant and almost scholarly. "The misguided belief of weak minded mortals is what creates and sustains the gods. If the faith dwindles, or the faithful die in sufficient numbers, the gods, too, will dwindle." He snorted. "Xanos would not like to attain godhood," he muttered. "To depend on the mindless masses for my very existence…bah! Better to gain power on my own terms."

Deekin bobbed his head in an upside-down nod. "Yeah, that good idea," he agreed. "Mean green man not good god material, anyway. He never answer prayers. He be too canker…canta…grumpy."

Xanos's eyes widened dangerously. "Why, you little-"

Deekin gave the half-orc a nervous, lipless grin. "So, uh, anyway," he rushed on. "What was Deekin saying…oh, right! See, wandering god be weak for a long time and there be this goddess of bad luck who Deekin not name because it be, uh, bad luck…anyway, she not like Boss's boss very much. Seems he all buddy-buddy with her sister and she really hate that, 'cause if there anyone she hate more than Boss's boss, it be her sister. So, she decide to play a nasty joke and disguise herself as Boss's boss, and then she come to desert and do mean things. Er. Really, really mean things. Like, not forgotten after twenty generations mean. She keep doing them whenever she gets the chance, too, even though Boss's boss is doing okay now. Uh. Deekin thinks she just like to rub it in, you know?"

I tried to digest this. I plumbed my memory for Drogan's lessons on local theology. "You're telling me that…what, Besha-...uh, this goddess decided to ruin Shaundakul's reputation, just for shits and giggles?" Something about that act offended me deeply. Not because I felt any urge to defend that son of a bitch, mind – but what Beshaba had done amounted to kicking a man when he was down. That was very not cool.

Ali stirred. "That is a lie, told by outsiders," he snapped. "Your god's malice and trickery is well known amongst my people."

I remembered the sense of Shaundakul's presence when he'd come to speak to me after J'Nah's death. As unwelcome as his company was, some part of me had felt his presence as a wash of sunlight, something that soothed and warmed at the end of a dark, cold night.

And then, for reasons I couldn't even define, I blurted, "That's bullshit. He's not like that." I stared cross-eyed at the scimitars and added, "I mean, s-sure, he's an infuriating son of a bitch and he's got a weird sense of humor, but he's…he's not cruel." The words nearly shriveled on my lips, but I said them, because even a career in politics hadn't eroded my honesty _that_ much. I licked my dry lips. "L-look, why don't you let me up and w-we can talk about this like rational people?"

The scimitar's pressure increased in response. "Do not trust her, Ali," the weapon's bearer cautioned. "You know the ways of her kind."

Xanos rumbled like a volcano on the verge of eruption. "This is rank idiocy," he snapped. He tried to shake off the arms restraining him. "Listen to the woman. She tells the truth."

The man called Ali raised his eyebrows at the sorcerer. "You are her ally," he said. "You would vouch for her, of course."

"Xanos is ally to no one!" the sorcerer sputtered. "He walks alone, you fool. He is beholden to none!"

"Then you will not object if we administer justice upon this false cleric," Ali said evenly, and I felt a hollow, sinking fear in the pit of my stomach.

Xanos's eyes went so wide that I was amazed they didn't pop out of their sockets. He bared his teeth. "I have heard nothing said here of _justice_ ," he seethed. "I have only heard the self-righteous bleating of hypocrites and ignorant savages."

"Her god has sinned against us, and will again if given the chance. It is our right to defend ourselves!"

"Actually, gods not really able to sin," Deekin interjected, spinning gently in the air. "Old Boss always said that gods just makes up sins so they gots something to yell at mortals about." He squinted at Ali. It wasn't a particularly friendly expression. "Deekin not know much about sin, but Boss be okay. She gives Deekin books and lets Deekin tell her jokes and sing her songs and she only threaten to hit him when he's done something really dumb, so that's all right. No one ever been that nice to Deekin before. If you hurt her, that not be nice at all."

The half-orc's eyes flickered to Deekin. There was a strange look in them. "For once, Xanos agrees with the lizard," he grated. He glared at the Bedine. "You _will_ unhand her, fool, or you will feel the full measure of Xanos's wrath."

 _Amen. Ditto. What he said,_ I thought fervently. I'd never been so happy to hear Xanos threaten someone.

Ali's eyes narrowed. "If your wrath is so fearful, perhaps you may yet be of use," he said. "Hear me, mage. My people are beset by an ancient enemy." His dark eyes were thoughtful, calculating. "He has stolen our water. He takes our people and turns them into soulless undead. They return to us, husks of themselves which we are then forced to destroy. I myself have had to…had to…" The Bedine grimaced and ran his hand down his bearded face. There were bruised-looking rings beneath his eyes. A part of me, a calm and distant piece of my brain that seemed to have nothing to do with the woman cowering in the sand, saw the gaunt and hollow look in his eyes, and the way his hand trembled for just a second before he brought it back under control, and that part of me knew that Ali was a man at the end of his rope. "We have fought with all of our might, but thirst saps our strength, while his power grows by the day," he finished abruptly. "We are warriors. We accept our own fates. We have sent our wives and children away, to take shelter in another oasis, but if the water does not return to this region, even their fates are…uncertain." His voice was heavy. "This, we cannot accept. And so we fight."

Xanos stared at the man. "This enemy of yours," the half-orc said. "Who is he?"

Ali made a warding gesture. "His name is Kel-Garas," he said, and I thought I heard a flicker of fear in his voice. "He was a powerful mage when he lived, in the time of Netheril. He sought, with his spells and the aid of Jergal, to cheat death."

"And he succeeded." A wary respect had entered Xanos's voice. It was a tone I'd never heard before. Usually, he spoke with a kind of arrogant insouciance. Now he was cautious, and _that_ made me want to run for the hills. "This Kel-Garas. He is a lich?"

Ali nodded. "That is his nature, yes," he confirmed.

"And you would like Xanos to…what, exactly?" The sorcerer's voice reeked with suspicion. "Kill this lich for you?" He lifted his chin, and I wondered if the sneer on his face was real or sheer bravado. If it was bravado, it was a damned good act. "Of course, Xanos is well prepared to defeat such an enemy, but he will not succumb to blackmail. Release us, and Xanos will consider your offer-" He smirked grimly. "-in the same spirit in which it was made."

Ali seemed unmoved. "You claim to have come here in search of water and your lost guide," he said. "You are unlikely to find them as long as Kel-Garas lives, traveler, and I will not release your companion until I have some assurance that she will not conspire with our enemy to bring about our defeat."

Xanos snorted and gestured at me, lying prone with the Bedines' swords at my throat. "Does she really look as if she presents a threat to you?" he asked skeptically. "Truly?"

I would have liked to protest that assessment, but the collar of scimitars I was currently wearing around my neck wouldn't let me.

"The Lurker in the Sands is known to be cunning," Ali said dismissively. "This woman may have hidden abilities."

Xanos paused, almost imperceptibly. I only saw it because I was looking for it. "She has none," he said abruptly. "She is as ineffectual as she seems." He caught my eye, and I thought I saw the beginnings of a conspiratorial smirk. "As a matter of fact, she is as mundane as a stump." He gestured. "Release her, and Xanos will graciously consent to solve your little problem."

Ali was already shaking his head. "I will release the lizard and free you to pursue this task. If, by trickery or by force, you retrieve the lich's soul-jar and bring it to us at the temple of Lathander over yonder, we will help you to destroy it. Though the temple has been defiled, the altar itself is still sanctified. If we can get the jar to the altar, the Morninglord will take care of the rest, and your friend will be free to go," he said. "But, until then, the priestess remains under our guard."

 _Priestess?_ It took me a moment to realize that the term had referred to me. I'd been called many things, but holy? _That_ was a new one. I would have laughed, if I didn't have these scimitars so close to my jugular.

Without turning my head, I looked at Xanos, trying to gauge his intentions. He'd gone very still, and I knew then that I'd have to say or do something to break this standoff, because Xanos's pride wouldn't let him give an inch.

I just didn't know _what_ I was going to say.

 _Play it by ear, Rebecca,_ I thought to myself uneasily. _What has to happen if we're going to get out of this?_

Then, as if someone had turned on a lightbulb, I had it. We needed water, we needed Zidan, I _really_ needed these damned swords away from my neck, and as long as we were standing here arguing, we didn't have any of those. And if even more problems came out of this, well, we'd worry about that when we got to it. As Master Drogan liked to say, it was best to tackle your problems one at a time.

Besides, Ali had the desperate air of a man backed into a corner, which wasn't the same thing as the air of a man who killed people for fun. If I didn't give him a reason to kill me, he probably wasn't going to. Hopefully. "Go on, Xanos," I said, and smiled a somewhat sickly smile. "Take Deekin if he's willing. Trust me. He's good at hiding. You might need that."

"Thanks, Boss," Deekin mumbled. He blinked at me uncertainly, his eyes watery. "Wow. No one ever say Deekin good at anything before. Not even old Boss."

"No problem, Deeks," I murmured. My shoulders ached from holding me in position. I was afraid that they'd give way before long, I'd collapse, and I'd get my throat cut before I could explain anything. I tried to shift position to ease the cramping. My throat ached, not entirely from the press of the blades. "Now scram." I looked at Ali, and added, "I'll be waiting."


	27. Chapter 27

The Bedine took me to a ruined temple and tied me to one of the columns that supported the nave.

The tribesmen were neither gentle nor rough about restraining me, but they did make sure that the only way I was going anywhere was by picking the column up and taking it with me.

I felt strangely calm. Maybe it was just because gibbering in terror seemed pretty pointless. It probably wouldn't net me anything, and I'd be better off conserving my energy for when I really needed it - like running away from a couple dozen pissed-off and heavily armed Bedine.

Besides, I was still alive and no one was actively trying to kill me. This was such an improvement on before that it seemed silly to complain about the little things, like being tethered to the local architecture.

I watched as Ali laid Silent Partner near the altar. He handled the weapon as warily as if he were handling a live snake. "It won't bite, you know," I told him, an annoyed edge to my voice. I didn't like other people touching Harry's old quarterstaff. I'd promised to keep it safe. Besides, I hated having it out of my hands. I felt better when I was holding it, for a variety of reasons. "Wood's reliable that way."

He glanced over his shoulder at me. "I would recommend silence," he said mildly. "I have no particular wish to gag you, lady, but if you attempt to cast a spell on me, I will do what I must."

I shrugged. "Suit yourself," I said indifferently. "I'm telling you, though…you're wasting your energy. I can't cast my way out of a damp paper bag."

Ali's face darkened. "Your forked tongue weaves nothing but lies," he told me. "You are wasting your time, follower of the jackal-headed one."

I blinked owlishly. "Okay. So he could use a shave and a haircut, we can both agree on that," I said bemusedly. "But since when is he jackal-headed?"

Ali ignored me. He rose lithely to his feet and moved among his people, who were scattered among the columns of the old temple. Some were tending to their weapons. Others were eating, or sleeping, or just sitting and staring off into space. They were all armed, and they moved with the athletic grace I'd come to associate with people like my Uthgardt friend, Magda – trained warriors, the kind who'd been fighting for so long that violence was just another reflex.

There were no children there, and no one over retirement age, either. No civilians, and, as far as I could tell, only one woman.

I saw torn robes, slumped shoulders, and shadows clinging to the corners of these people's eyes. I thought I recognized that look. I'd seen it the one time I'd been dumb enough to volunteer for humanitarian service in a war zone. It was the look of someone who fought not because there was any way for them to win, but because they had no other options left.

Sighing, I let my head fall back against my column, keeping tabs on Silent Partner from the corner of my eye. It was dim and cool in the temple, and I found myself taking almost orgasmically intense pleasure in this respite from the desert heat. It was close to noon out there, and the sun was beating down on the dry oasis like a hammer.

Maybe it was a residual reaction to the heat, or maybe the stress, but when I looked at the altar, my vision wavered. I saw a faint golden haze around it, barely more than a glimmer. Was that what Ali had been talking about when he'd said that the altar was still sanctified? Even from here, it felt warm, like the sun.

I looked up and saw a hammered bronze sun glinting from its place on the nave's shadowed wall. It took me a couple of minutes of mentally reviewing Drogan's lessons and the temples of Silverymoon to remember where I'd seen that symbol before. _Lathander,_ I thought. _Appropriate. God knows they never run out of sunlight around here._

A swirl of robes pulled my attention back to my immediate surroundings. I tore my eyes away from the altar.

Ali was crouched in front of me. He held out a clay cup. "Drink," he commanded. "I will help you."

I looked at him, frowning in surprise. "I thought you had no more water," I remarked.

His eyes were shuttered and cautious. "Little, but you have fought today," he said curtly. "You must replenish your body's water."

He had a point. I nodded, and the Bedine lifted the cup to my lips, allowing me a few sips of lukewarm, gritty water. It didn't taste very good, but it did clean my throat of the stink of putrefying flesh that hung over this valley like smog over a major metropolitan area.

That was another thing that made me grateful to have sturdy stone walls around me. I'd never seen zombies before, not up close and personal like I had seen them here. Like so many other things, Drogan's illusions hadn't prepared me for the reality. Something about those grotesque, shambling ruins of what had once been people had filled me with an icy horror that was impossible to shake.

There had been one zombie in particular that had stuck in my mind and wouldn't go away. Its head had been bashed in at some point, and I'd been able to see right into its skull, through jagged bone and pulped flesh to the soupy gray matter beneath. Somewhere along the way, its eyeballs had collapsed like a pair of deflated balloons, leaking milky fluid down its waxy cheeks in a sick parody of tears.

I hadn't been able to look at it, much less fight it. I'd lurched aside and puked up my breakfast, and probably last night's dinner, too, right there in the sand. Xanos and Deekin had had to kill the thing alone. I could still taste the bile in the back of my throat whenever I thought of it.

Worse than the sickness, though, was the anger. I'd thought of my father, and wondered how I'd feel if some crazy necromancer had revived his corpse into that funhouse-mirror reflection of life. Would the body just have been a soulless puppet, sent to mock my grief? Or would dad, on some level, have been in there? Would he have known what he'd been turned into? Would I, if I died here?

Would Xanos and Deekin come back like that, if they got killed in that tomb? I tried to tell myself that Xanos was too nasty to die, and Deekin was too good at making himself scarce when things started to go badly, but still I found myself picturing them as reanimated shells of what they had been in life. The spark of pride and cunning in Xanos's eyes would be gone. The gleam of insatiable curiousity in Deekin's would be snuffed out.

The prospect did more than terrify me – it made me want to jam Silent Partner's butt into the throat of whoever was responsible for this twisted, fucked-up horrow show.

In search of some kind of distraction, I studied my captors face while he allowed me small, evenly spaced sips of water. The man wasn't much older than I was, perhaps in his early to mid-thirties. His eyes were a warm shade of chocolate, thickly lashed and almost girlish in their prettiness. The rest of him, however, was anything but girlish. His lips were sensually shaped, he moved like a panther, and his aquiline nose gave him the look of a bird of prey.

He was fierce and dark and graceful and he smelled faintly of masculine sweat and oiled steel, a combination that I found far less unpleasant than I would ever have expected. It was having an interesting effect on me. Hell, under different circumstances, I might not even have bothered with asking him to untie me - though I would have asked that he do me the courtesy of taking his scimitar off, first. I didn't like having edged weapons that close to my bare skin.

It was a shame, then, that he absolutely hated my guts (which wasn't necessarily a barrier) and didn't trust me enough to let me near him with his clothes off (which was). But hey, at least the look of burning scorn in his eyes did something to tamp down my libido. As silver linings went, it was pretty pathetic, but I figured I'd take what I could get.

After Ali took the now-empty cup away, I spoke again. I kept my voice even and conversational. "I'm surprised," I observed. "From the way you spoke, I wasn't expecting much in the way of hospitality."

He gave me an almost pitying look. "We are not so lacking in honor that we would mistreat those in our care," he said. "Even our worst enemies may expect fair treatment from our hands."

I couldn't hold back a sigh. "I'm not your enemy," I said wearily. I shifted slightly, trying to find a marginally less uncomfortable position. There was a jagged chunk of sandstone missing from the column. The edges of the gap seemed to be trying to make for my kidneys. "I don't know why you think I am, but I'm not."

Ali shrugged. "As you say," he said neutrally.

I could tell that he didn't believe me. He was probably just trying to get me to shut up, which only made me more determined to keep talking. "I mean it," I persisted. I hunted for an argument to support my case. "Look, why would I have been fighting those zombies if I were on your enemy's side?"

The Bedine shrugged again. "The undead are mere fodder to their master," he said. "Perhaps Kel-Garas sacrificed his minions to a ruse – a ruse meant to convince me of your innocence."

I raised my eyebrows skeptically. "If it was a ruse, it was a bad one," I said. "You obviously aren't convinced."

"Only because we discovered the symbol of your god in the possession of your kobold minion."

I blinked, taken aback. "My _minion_?" I repeated. I laughed and shook my head. "I'm afraid that you might have mistaken the situation," I said tactfully. "That's just Deekin. He's his own person. Uh. Kobold. Whatever."

"So why does this Deekin follow you?"

I shrugged, a little awkwardly thanks to the ropes that bound my arms. "I don't know," I said. I'd never actually thought about it. Deekin had turned up like a bad penny, Katriana had decided that he was my responsibility, and the alternative to letting him follow me around would have been to let him wander around alone and get himself lost - or, worse yet, killed. I hadn't exactly wanted to be his keeper, but I'd wanted another death on my conscience even less. "I guess he doesn't really have anywhere else to go," I said at last. I laughed again, softly, though without much humor. "I can relate. Besides, he's not that much of a burden. He's only got the one change of clothes, carries all of his own books, and he'll eat just about anything you throw at him."

Ali looked at me askance. "I do not understand," he said. "There is no benefit to you in allowing this creature to accompany you. Did your cursed god command you to do this?"

I furrowed my brow. "He doesn't really command." I mulled it over and added drily, "Mostly he just gives unsolicited advice."

"But you do not deny that you follow him," Ali persisted.

I snorted. "It's more like _he_ follows _me_ ," I said sourly.

Ali's head reared back, like that of a cat who'd just smelled something unpleasant. "You hold the Rider of the Wind in your sway?" he asked, visibly shocked.

"No...no, I think he just likes pissing me off," I said meditatively. "I don't know why." I shrugged again. "Like I said, he's got a weird sense of humor."

The Bedine seemed to find my words a little dumbfounding. "You blaspheme against your god as casually as a nonbeliever," he said, aghast. "Are you not afraid of his wrath?"

That was another thing I'd never actually thought about. "Not really, no," I said, after a pensive pause. Though I'd felt many things in Shaundakul's presence, ranging anywhere from apathy to blind rage, the one thing I had never really been was afraid. "He wouldn't hurt me," I said. Maybe it was the dusty, dreamlike quality of the old temple that made me feel so contemplative. Maybe it was the hypnotic glow coming off of the altar, a glow that no one else seemed to be noticing but me. "He might let me hurt myself, I guess. He doesn't seem to want to tell people what to do, even for their own good. But he's not what you could call malicious."

Ali's voice went flat. "You lie. His cruelty is famous among my people."

I shrugged. "I can only tell you the truth," I said. "Whether you believe it or not is up to you."

Ali looked at me bemusedly. "You are a very strange woman," he remarked mildly. "You speak with seeming frankness, and yet you kneel at the feet of a great deceiver."

I gave him my most brilliant, made-for-TV smile. He blinked. "Yeah," I said. "I know. Story of my life."

The man gave an abrupt shake of his head, as if trying to jog something loose. He stood. "Try as I might, I cannot understand your aim in coming here," he said. "But I promise you that you will not achieve it, priestess of the jackal-headed one."

I'd opened my mouth to reply when I heard a far-off boom, like a detonation.

At first, I thought I'd imagined things. Then the rumble came again, the flagstones shuddered beneath me, and I remembered that I'd never been a very imaginative person.

It happened a third time, and I saw Ali's face freeze while the temple's stones groaned and heaved around us and a fine hail of dust sifted down from the ceiling. An oil lamp slid from its perch and crashed to the floor. Men shouted and jumped up, rushing to contain the fire.

I ignored the fuss and bother and kept my eyes on Ali, because he was the only one who seemed to be keeping some presence of mind. "What the hell was that?" I snapped, fear sharpening my tongue.

An urgent banging on the temple doors was my answer. It took a discernable pattern, like a code. "Open!" Ali barked at his tribesmen, spinning to face the doors. He had his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. "Let them in!"

The Bedine guardsman hurried to lift the heavy bar that held the doors shut and pull them open. Dusty, sun-battered men tumbled in.

"Ali," one gasped. "The tomb, something is happening at the tomb."

"The stones buckle, and its mouth vomits forth an army of the undead," the other agreed. He was pale, and his beard and eyebrows were dusted with sand. "The lich attacks! We will be overrun!"

Ali's eyes narrowed. "We will not!" he snarled. He turned to me, a grim smile tightening his lips. He had a strange light in his eyes, the kind of manic despair a man might feel when, on reaching the light at the end of the tunnel, he'd discovered that the end of the tunnel was on fire. "Your ally, Kel-Garas, awakens," he said. "Something has angered him, it seems."

 _Xanos, you magnificent bastard,_ I thought as the ground gave another lurch. Only _he_ could piss someone off this badly. "What do we do?" I asked nervously, ignoring the whole 'ally' thing. It was a fight I couldn't seem to win. "Do we wait here until Xanos and Deekin bring the soul jar?"

Ali looked to his guards. "Is there any sign of the sorcerer and his companion?" he asked.

The taller of the two shook his head. "None," he said, and I felt like someone had hit me in the pit of the stomach. "We saw only the undead, Ali."

"Very well." Ali's voice was terse. He looked at me, his gaze grim and measuring.

And then, so swiftly that I didn't even see his hand move, the Bedine leader drew his scimitar from its sheathe and swung it straight at me.


	28. Chapter 28

Silvery metal arced down towards me, its leading edge shivering in the lamplight.

It happened so fast. I would have screamed, but I was so startled it only came out as a gasp.

Automatically, I tried to duck, but I couldn't move more than a few inches before the ropes binding me pulled taut.

Then I heard the sound of metal against stone, and suddenly the ropes weren't taut anymore.

Since I was already trying to dodge to the side, this meant that the sudden lack of resistance sent me tumbling sideways in a heap of slack rope and jingling scalemail.

I hit the flagstones with a clatter like a pile of falling soup bowls.

"God _damn_ it!" I shouted from the floor. I struggled upright, shedding coils of rope. "Warn me before you do things like that!"

Ali reached down and yanked me to my feet. "Be glad I did not take your head, follower of the jackal-god," he retorted. He gave me a shove in the direction of the door. "I will not leave you here to conspire against us in our absence. You will come with us."

I stumbled and grabbed onto his arm, trying to regain my balance on legs that were just beginning to get their circulation back. "What about my weapon?" I demanded. "I can't go out there without-"

"We will guard you from the lich's forces."

My lip curled. "Yeah. The question is, who'll guard me from _you_?" I couldn't have stopped myself from asking that question if a booming voice came down from the sky and said, _"Rebecca, shut the fuck up. You're just spoiling it for yourself, you know."_ For some reason, I imagined the voice as Shaundakul's. Minus the swearing, it sounded like something he _would_ say, and a part of me I wondered what it meant, that what he'd say to me was pretty much the exact same thing _I_ would say to me if only I would stop to think.

Then, as Ali scowled and gave me another shove without deigning to answer my impertinent question, I decided that I was better off not thinking those kinds of things when I had more important things to worry about, like survival.

Ali's men formed up around me, scimitars at the ready. I couldn't resist a longing backwards glance at Silent Partner. It lay at the foot of the altar. My palms itched to feel its warm, reassuring heft.

Then the Bedine herded me out into the sun, and the doors boomed shut behind us.

There was a wall of gray-and-green flesh moving up from the tomb's mouth.

Ali drew up beside me. We stood on a slight rise, where the valley began its downward sweep to the canyon. He held his scimitar low, its tip gleaming in the sun. "I have never seen a force this strong," he said softly. "Our legends speak of such things, in the days before Kel-Garas was trapped within his tomb by my ancestors. But I had hoped never to see it with my own eyes."

I looked at him. "Xanos and Deekin must have gotten the soul jar," I said. "Maybe that's why the lich is so angry."

The young sheikh tightened his grip on his weapon. "His wrath is nothing next to ours," he said blackly.

I surprised myself by laying a hand on his arm. The muscles of his forearm were tense and tightly corded. "What about Xanos and Deekin?" I asked intently. "They might still be in there. We can't risk-"

Ali cut me off. "They will come or they will not," he said. "If they do, we must buy them time to make their escape and destroy the soul jar. If not…"

He fell silent. I didn't really want to hear what he had to say. I didn't have to. Part of me knew what lay at the end of that pregnant pause. I just didn't want to hear it said, because as long as I didn't hear it, I could try to ignore it.

Ali shook me off and lifted his scimitar. "Tribe of the Green Oasis!" he cried. "We have lived eons under the shadow of our ancient enemy! We will not cower now! If this is our end, let us face it as our ancestors did – cursing our foes with our last breath!"

As battle cries went, I thought it was the kind of morale-killer that would make most armies pack up their artillery and go home right on the spot, but the tribesmen surprised me by sending up a wild, ululating cry in response. More than that, though, it was their eyes that struck me, dozens of pairs of dark eyes that gleamed as intently as a hunting cat's.

And then, as one man, the Bedine drew their scimitars.

The steely rattle of dozens of swords being unsheathed at once made the blood surge through my veins so powerfully that it shocked me.

It was stupid, and it was insane, and we were probably all going to die, but, for just a second, I thought I finally understood what battle lust felt like. It was like normal lust, but tinged with rage and panic and the bone-deep urge to go rip something apart.

"To me!" their beautiful young sheikh cried, and the tribesmen leapt forward, their robes fluttering behind them like the wings of carrion crows.

There was a canyon between the oasis valley and the cliffside where Kel-Garas's tomb lay. A narrow stone causeway bridged the canyon, and it was infested with an army of creeping undead. The zombies and skeletons clustered together so closely that from this distance they looked like little more than a jumble of heads and limbs and gory, half-decayed flesh. It wouldn't take much more than a stiff breeze to knock them off of the bridge and into the canyon, where the fall was certain to take care of them.

The Bedine swarmed into the fray, black-robed dervishes amongst gray flesh and white bone. They seemed to be closing in on the approaching undead from all sides, trying to keep them contained on the narrow bridge and funnel the vanguard of the undead through a wall of scimitars. Here and there, I saw winged shapes glide across the canyon, hunched grayish creatures that looked like boulders with wings but which flew in the way that boulders shouldn't have been able to. They didn't look for holes in the crowd to land in – they just landed wherever they wanted and made their own holes.

The fight was messy and chaotic. I thought I saw a man go down, dragged by the hungry, grasping hands of zombies. I couldn't see much, but I could hear plenty. It was the way he kept screaming and then stopped all too abruptly that made me feel like my blood had congealed in my veins.

Then another man went down, and another, and another, though the Brownian motion of battle seethed on all around them just the same, closing the gaps they'd left behind.

The Bedine hadn't been the best hosts to me – as a matter of fact, they'd threatened to chop my head off, which was pretty inhospitable by any definition of the word - but this was too much. I wanted karma to bite them in the ass, maybe give them all a bad case of herpes or boils or male pattern baldness or something. I didn't want them all to die horribly right in front of my eyes.

Most days I didn't know right from wrong any more – the boundaries had been getting blurrier and blurrier over the years since I'd lost my rose-colored glasses - but in this I felt a rare certainty. This carnage was _wrong._

A movement caught my eye, and I looked up.

The sky was a bright, fierce blue, devoid of clouds. Far above the fight, a hunting bird – a hawk, or maybe a falcon - wheeled on its pinions, wings outspread to catch a weak updraft. Above the noise of the fray, I heard its shriek pierce the air.

The tingle of power within me stirred in response. A breeze cut through the stillness, as hot and dry as a blast from an oven. It rifled through my hair.

 _Rider of the Wind,_ I thought. The bird dipped its wings as if it had heard me, and it wheeled away, soaring low over the heads of the undead. _That's what Ali called him._ It made sense, in a way. Shaundakul's voice sounded like the whistle of wind over the mountains, like the murmur of an ocean breeze, like the howl of a blizzard. How he could be all those things at once, and more, I didn't know - but then, he _was_ a god, as much as he didn't seem to want to toot his own horn in that regard.

And, above all, it was _his_ power that hummed through my blood, making my veins feel like live wires. His, and yet, in a weird sort of way, also mine, because a tiny piece of it was a part of me now.

Maybe that's why it seemed so natural to me to let the power reach out, gathering the heavy air with spectral fingers that I could only half-see and only half-feel. It was a sense that didn't compare to any other, something beyond sight or touch or scent or hearing or taste. It was a sixth sense that defied strict definition, and I let it guide me in shaping the sluggish air.

I closed my eyes. In the darkness behind my lids, I saw a dancing green tongue of flame. _Look into the flame_ , I thought. _I am within the flame. The flame is within me. Look into the flame…_

The first gust was weak, fighting against the inertia of the deadlands that the oasis had become. It lasted an instant, and then it was gone.

I took a deep breath, gathered myself, and pulled _. My heart contains it,_ I thought. _My will commands it. Mine._ Sweat beaded on my forehead and evaporated just as quickly. _I am the flame…_ My muscles quivered as if I was trying to move a mountain with my bare hands.

And then, all at once, the mountain moved.

A blast of air slammed into the writhing mass of flesh on the bridge. I felt it, queerly, as if it had been my own fist that'd knocked into the things.

I opened my eyes just to see zombies and skeletons getting knocked aside like bowling pins. From my vantage point up on the hillside, the falling figures looked like dolls, right before they vanished from view on their way to the canyon's floor.

 _Steeee-rike!_ I felt like shouting, but I didn't have the breath to do it. I was panting as if I'd just run a marathon. Spots danced in front of my eyes, and my legs quivered.

My Bedine guards murmured and shifted. Wind whipped at their robes. One of them – a woman, unlike most of the others - laid her hand on my shoulder, her grip pressing my scaled pauldron into my collarbone. "What are you doing?" the Bedine woman demanded, and gestured at the hole in the enemy forces. "Is this some sort of spell?"

I gulped for breath, too tired to even shrug her hand away. "Beats me," I admitted weakly. I swayed and squinted towards the fray. My little bitchslap seemed to have punched a hole in Kel-Garas's forces – not a big one, but enough to slow their advance and give the beleaguered Bedine a chance to regroup. I was no military expert, though. I didn't know how helpful knocking off a couple dozen zombies really was, in the scheme of things. "Did it do any good?"

The tribesmen looked at one another. "Should we send for Ali?" one murmured.

The woman who'd spoken looked at me and shook her head. She drew her sword. "No. We will watch," she said, and leveled a warning glare at me. "Your action was useful, but do not do it again, priestess of the jackal god. You must know that at the first sign of treachery-"

I was getting really tired of being addressed by that particular epithet. "Yeah, yeah," I sighed. "You'll take my head." I was coasting somewhere beyond terror now, in the tranquil oceans of delirious fatalism. "Tell me something I didn't know."


	29. Chapter 29

_There is a fine line, between recklessness and courage._   
_It's about time, you understood which road to take_   
_It's a fine line, and your decision makes a difference._   
_Get it wrong, you'll be making a big mistake_

_Whatever's more important to you_   
_You've gotta choose what you want to do_   
_Whatever's more important to be_   
_Well that's the view that you've got to see_

_\- Paul McCartney, "Fine Line"_

* * *

 

We watched the battle for a while, me and my Bedine babysitters.

Or rather, _they_ watched. I sprawled out on a convenient boulder and closed my eyes. I didn't know how I could relax like that with a battle going on not a quarter of a mile away, but I was too damned tired to give it any thought.

Besides, I was afraid that if I made any funny moves, the Bedine would finally make good on their threats to take my head. I didn't know exactly where they wanted to take it, but I was pretty sure it was going to be somewhere where _I_ wouldn't be using it.

With my head swimming the way it was, time felt slower somehow. Each moment dripped by like molasses in winter.

_Drip._

The wind felt good against my skin. I was glad I'd gotten the air moving, but _damn_ had it been heavy. I might have been better off picking that boulder up with my bare hands and throwing it at the zombies, instead.

_Drip._

I felt a shadow pass over my face. It felt pleasantly cool, though for some reason it was making my babysitters shout an awful lot. Someone swore. Swords clanged.

I frowned, without opening my eyes. _Wait a minute,_ I thought. _There's no shade around here._

' _Sides, shade doesn't usually move around this much._

Then my eyes snapped open, and I saw what looked like one of the roof decorations from Notre Dame pass right over my head.

"Holy _shit!_ " I shouted, and sat bolt upright.

The gargoyle looked like it'd been carved out of granite, and it probably shouldn't have been able to move the way it did, more like a bird of prey than a chunk of statuary. But it did.

The gargolye landed in front of my Bedine bodyguards with a ground-shaking thump. Its talons sank into the rocky soil, digging deep, dusty grooves.

It looked at us for a second, as if sizing us up. Then it clacked its beak, once, and pounced, its wings unfurling like a rockslide in reverse.

Bedine scattered to either side with alarmed cries, their blades glancing harmlessly off of the gargoyle's stony hide. Sparks showered to the ground, barely visible in the bright sunlight.

The gargoyle didn't even seem to feel the blows. It lashed out to either side, _one-two,_ striking like a prizefighter and snagging black-robed figures in its claws.

One of them was the woman, who screamed as a granite-like talon tore into her midsection. I saw a spray of crimson spatter the sand, right before the Bedine woman stumbled backwards, clutching her belly.

Then the gargoyle threw another couple of Bedine aside and turned to me, and my body demonstrated a sense of self-preservation that my stunned and overheated brain was sorely lacking. It dived from the boulder and hit the dirt on the other side.

I heard shouts. Black robes sailed over me, heading for the gargoyle. Steel screeched against stone. Men cursed. Chips of granite flew. One hit my cheek just beneath my eye, causing a sharp and sudden sting of pain that made me flinch violently. My fingers shook as I brought them to my face. They came away red.

The woman who'd been clawed lay groaning in the dirt. I looked at the other Bedine. They'd surrounded the gargoyle several feet away, and seemed to be occupying its full attention. It was facing away from us.

Then I looked back at the injured woman. The others were so busy fighting that they'd left her to deal with her injuries alone. It was a rational decision, if cold. It wouldn't do anyone any good to try to take care of her while there was still an angry gargoyle on their backs. It would just get her _and_ her would-be saviour killed.

An equally rational decision on my part would be to stay put. I was unarmed and no match for that thing.

The woman's hand clenched convulsively around the hilt of her scimitar. Her other hand clawed at the ground. She tried to drag herself upright and let loose a hiss of pain. She slumped.

That hiss did something funny to my brain.

Suddenly, I saw myself, uninjured and crouching behind a rock. No, not crouching. _Cowering._ Then I saw the other woman, a dark-haired girl about my age, trying with single-minded determination to claw her way back into the fight, despite the hole in her stomach.

If the gargoyle killed me, I wondered which way I'd rather go – my way, which would probably mean getting pinned against this rock and disemboweled messily, or _her_ way, spitting and fighting and doing her damnedest to make her killer _pay_?

Of course, given the choice, I wouldn't want either of those fates. I'd rather not die at all.

The woman groaned again, a convulsion of pain wracking her frame.

_Shit,_ I thought. _Shit, shit, shit._

With another wary look at the gargoyle's winged back, I pulled my cloak tightly around me to muffle the jingle of my armor and crept across the sandy soil.

The woman's eyes snapped open when I knelt down beside her. She stared at me. "You-" she said, and I immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. I glared down at her and put a warning finger to my lips.

The woman's dark eyes – pretty, liquid brown eyes which, for some reason, reminded me strongly of Ali's - flickered with some emotion I couldn't read – surprise, maybe, or wariness – but then she settled down and thinned her lips, saying nothing more.

Gingerly, I peeled her lacerated black robes away from her skin, wincing as the blood-soaked cloth revealed a nasty gash in her abdomen. I saw a lot of pink and red. The blood pulsed, welling out of the gory canyon and trickling down the woman's side in a steady stream. My mind, despite my best efforts, kept throwing up comparisons to a freshly-carved ham. My vision started to go fuzzy at the edges.

Vaguely, I felt an urgent pressure at my wrist and looked down. The woman's hand was wrapped around my wrist, and she was looking up at me urgently. Her face was pale with pain, but her eyes were clear and intent, with a slight hint of pleading.

I looked at her - how old was she, anyway? I'd thought she was about my age, but, on closer inspection, she looked like she should be planning for her high school prom, not out here fighting monstrosities - and swallowed. _Right,_ I thought, trying to remember the battlefield first-aid Drogan had taught me. _Uhhhh. First things first…pressure. Yeah. Should probably apply pressure or something, stop the bleeding. Okay._ I wadded up a double handful of robes and leaned some of my weight on the wound. The woman started to cry out before she could stifle it, and I looked over my shoulder nervously. The gargoyle was still otherwise occupied.

I turned back to the woman and blinked.

_Am I having a nervous breakdown?_ I thought, arrested, _Or am I really seeing through my hands?_

It was as if someone was shining a flashlight beneath my palm, turning the flesh semi-translucent – except that in this case, I saw right through the bone and muscle and tendon and the startlingly delicate tracery of blood vessels in my own hand, straight to the body of the woman beneath it. I saw lots of little glowing red lines that pumped and spurted weakly. I saw two ragged edges of the wound, and how they mirrored each other and might be made to match up, if only I had some way to glue them back together.

I blinked my eyes twice and squinted, my head swimming. A hum of power pulsed in my chest, once, and I felt a faint tingle gather in the tips of my fingers, where it trickled like water into the raw, open wound.

I cocked my head in dreamy bemusement, studying the strange sight before me. My hands went still, and I delved deeper. My vision narrowed and broadened at the same time. Vaguely, I saw the silhouette of a crowded jumble of viscera beneath the flesh, but the wound hadn't gone deep enough to tear into those, thank god, so I paid them no mind.

_I think I see…there!_

With spectral fingers, I pinched the veins and arteries shut to stop the bleeding. The woman's body jerked convulsively under my hands, and I winced apologetically.

_Too hard, shit, sorry, okay, gentler next time, wait, what next time are we talking about here, fucking hell I hope there's not going to be a next time…_ Part of me realized that I was mumbling out loud, but the rest of me was lost in concentration, and paid this fact no mind. _Okay, no, wait, gotta focus, maybe I can close this, just a little more time…_

Clumsily, I directed the power to either side to push the edges of the wound together, and the other woman let out a muffled shriek and what sounded like a bitten-off curse.

_Oh, fuck, sorry, so sorry, I'm new at this, please don't scream I won't do it again...no, wait, sorry, gonna have to do it again after all, hold on, almost there…_

I gritted my teeth. By main force, I held the flesh together long enough to brush another trickle of power along the line where it had been cut, washing away the ruptured cells and coaxing the whole ones to join their edges and close the wound from the bottom up.

My breath came in shallow pants. My headache was getting worse by the second. But I was almost there, almost there, just another minute and I'd reach the skin and be able to patch it back into one piece and she'd be _okay._

I heard a shrill cry, and felt a hand plant itself on my shoulder and shove me away.

I yelped, falling backwards onto my haunches. My palms scraped against the rough soil.

My patient was gritting her teeth, clutching her bloodied belly and trying to sit up and frantically waving one hand at me to move, move, _move._ "What the h-" I started to say.

Then I heard a scrape of talons behind me, and my blood froze solid as ice.


	30. Chapter 30

I jumped to my feet and spun around and wanted to scream, because the gargoyle was coming this way but behind him were more black-robed bodies, lying bloody and motionless in the sand. I'd just barely managed to get one person halfway patched up and five more died in the meantime and _god_ did it make me angry.

I was so pissed that I didn't register the gargoyle's right hook until it was already coming. I gasped and jumped backwards frantically.

I didn't jump far enough. The gargoyle's claws plunged through layers of scale and leather and cloth as if they were made of paper. They hooked under some of the scales on my armor, tearing them off of me like a fisherman cleaning a freshly caught salmon.

I felt a strange, hot sensation across my ribs, and then I was flying, knocked into a sideways spin by the sheer force of blow.

I hit the sand hard and slid, thinking _hey that didn't hurt at all_. Then my nerves caught up with current events, and pain seared my chest like fire. My vision went black at the edges and spotty all over, and for a moment I couldn't even remember my own name, much less where I was or what was going on.

I saw the gargoyle shake its clawed forelimb, dislodging a few glittering scales. Then it took one stalking step towards me, and another.

 _Ohshitohshitohshit._ I struggled to get up, no real thought in my mind except an animal imperative to _run_ , to get away from this thing before it killed me.

Then, for some reason, the gargoyle stopped. Pebbles showered against its hide, as if someone had just tossed a handful its way.

"Hey!" a voice screeched. "You leave Boss alone, you nasty old statue!" The gargoyle shifted its weight to advance again, and something clicked. "Okay! Deekin warned you, he did! Now, how did Boss put it…oh, right." I heard another couple of clicks, and then: "Say cheese!"

I heard a crackle, caught a whiff of ozone, and then a flash of searing white light left purple afterimages across my vision.

The gargoyle's beaked gaped open in a pantomime of a roar, but it didn't have any kind of voice to scream with, so its agonies were eerily silent. It spasmed. Sparks danced across its body, and fine cracks opened up in the granite.

I stared, wide-eyed. " _Deekin_?" I shrieked incredulously.

"Hey, Boss!" the kobold called cheerily. I heard a few more frantic clicks. "Uh. Give Deekin a minute. He not sure how to reload this thing-"

The gargoyle was coming on relentlessly, jerkily, its beak wide open and its mad obsidian eyes fixed on me.

Steel hissed out of its sheath. Over my shoulder and going past at high speed I heard the resonant _whoom whoom whoom_ of spinning metal _,_ followed by a loud crunch.

The gargoyle's eyes crossed, trying to focus on the hilt of the scimitar that had suddenly blossomed from the back of its throat.

Then, without any further ado, it gave a strange little sigh and crumbled into a heap of inanimate stone.

The gargoyle's glossy black eyes were the last to fall. They landed on the top of the pile, and then rolled gently to the ground like a pair of thrown marbles. They stopped not far from my feet, gleaming darkly against the yellow sand.

My pulse still pounding in my skull, I twisted to see where the hell that sword had come from.

The Bedine girl I'd tried to heal was just pushing herself up into a sitting position, her forearm curled protectively against her abdomen. Her scabbard was empty.

When she caught me looking, she smirked. "Fortunately for you, priestess, my aim is not as poor as your healing," she said drily.

I stared at her. And then, to no one's surprise more than my own, I laughed. "You know, with a mouth like that, you'll never get anywhere," I retorted. "Trust me. I've tried it."

Running footsteps scrabbled up the short rise. Deekin scurried up to me, grinning widely. He had an ivory wand in one hand, and gestured with it as he spoke. "Boss! Hey, boss, good to see y-"

"Deeks! How did you do that? I could just about kiss y-" I began. Then I yelped and ducked. "Oy! Would you stop waving that thing around like that?" I howled, flinching away from the wand Deekin was so casually brandishing. It was like watching someone play with a loaded gun. No, worse. At least guns had triggers and safety catches. As far as I knew, you could set a wand off by looking at it funny. "Do you want to zap us both to oblivion?!"

"Oh, come on, Boss, Deekin be pretty sure he got it all figured out. Uh. Well, mostly sure, hehe. Um. Anyway, he found it in the tomb. There was lots of neat things in there - liches kinda like little old ladies. They never throw anything away. Here, let Deekin show you how it works! See, if you turn this part like this-"

"Gah! No! Don't show me! Put it down, just put it down!" I made a lurching grab for the kobold's wrist. Then I hunched over. The sudden movement had made the skin over my ribcage pull in a seriously disconcerting way. My ribs throbbed. I felt a hot sensation which quickly turned into a damp, sticky one as the linen shirt I wore beneath my armor soaked up a fresh flow of blood. "Ow," I said, much more quietly. My voice was strangled. "That...didn't feel so good."

The kobold's inner eyelids slid halfway shut in an expression I'd come to recognize as either dismay or embarrassment. "Oh, no," he gasped. "You be hurt, boss? Deekin so sorry." He rummaged futilely in his sack, tsking. "Deekin thinks we be out of healing potions, too. Green man used the last one after big skeleton hit him with an axe."

"With a _what_?" I asked faintly. Cautiously, I took my hand away from my ribs. I was missing some scales, had a hole in my mail, and my leather undercoat and the shirt beneath it were both sticky with blood, but at least no new blood seemed to be coming out of me. "What was Xanos doi-" Another spasm of pain hit me as I shifted. _"Damn it,_ " I hissed. My hand groped at my belt pouches. I felt lukewarm metal and pulled my flask out of one of them. Delia's apple brandy scorched its way down my throat. It was as warm as the flask, which didn't help its flavor profile anyway, but after a couple of swigs it got the throbbing in my ribs to die down enough so that I could speak. I lowered the flask. "Now, about Xanos-" I stopped. Gradually, I became aware of a truly _vile_ smell, and for the first time during this little discussion I actually _looked_ at Deekin. "Oh, my god. Deeks, what the _hell_ have you been rolling in?"

The Bedine woman lurched to her feet. Listing slightly to one side, she limped over to the gargoyle's remains and grasped the hilt of her scimitar. The blade came free with a scraping sound and a soft scattering of stones. "From the smell, I would say that your little kobold has found the camel pens," she said. "Or, at least, what remains of them."

The kobold grinned sheepishly. His scales were coated in something I didn't want to examine too closely. It was brownish and sort of crusty, with bits of half-digested vegetable matter in it. "Yeah, uh, what she said. It green man's idea. It be camel poo."

"Camel poo," I repeated flatly.

"Yeah. The Bedine must've gotten all their camels eaten by zombies, but nobody ever bother to clean the pens. Good for us, right? See, zombies and mummies smell living things, but if you cover up your smell-"

"Like, say, by rolling in shit."

"Yeah! And then Deekin finally figure out how to turn invisible, too, so we-"

"'We' meaning you and Xanos."

"Yeah-"

"Who also, I'm guessing, is also running around covered from head to toe in camel poo."

"Hey, it be his idea!"

I scrubbed my hand through my hair, which had mostly come loose from its ponytail. I sat up. Suddenly, I was _really_ happy that I hadn't been able to go with the two of them. "Yeah," I said bemusedly. I took another pull from my flask before closing it up and pocketing it again. "Figures. Camel shit goes right along with his sparkling personality." Then I blinked and looked around. "So where is he, anyway?" I asked. "Did you get the soul jar? Is it done? What happened to Kel-Garas? Is he dead? If he's dead, why are all of these zombies here?"

That was when Deekin shuffled his feet nervously and my nerves begin to wind up again. "Uh," he said. "Actually, that kind of the problem." He must have seen the look in my eye, and stammered in his haste to forestall me. "Don't worry, boss, we got the soul jar okay, 'cept, uh, lich kinda…not know. Not until we already be leaving. Then we had to run 'cause there was lots of zombies and stuff after us and the roof was falling down and then Deekin come looking for boss except he got kinda scared and hid for a while until he figured out how to make this wand work…"

I rose to my knees. " _Where. Is. Xanos?_ " I asked him from between clenched teeth.

"He…he went to the temple." Deekin shifted uncomfortably under my shocked stare. "Kel-Garas say he follow and do all sorts of nasty things to us if we not give his soul jar back, but Deekin not sure, really, 'cause it not as if he can leave tomb…unless, uh…unless somebody take his soul jar out, anyway…oh, dear…"

Before Deekin finished his sentence, I felt a rumble under my feet.

We all – Deekin, the Bedine woman, and I – looked across the oasis, to the temple. There was another rumble, and the air around the temple glowed for a brief moment, as if someone had flicked a switch.

If Deekin decided to say anything more, I didn't hear it. "That idiot!" I burst out, lurching to my feet. The stab of pain from my ribs only made me angrier. "What the hell does he think he's doing, pissing off a lich and then running off without backup…Cyric's _Balls,_ I don't believe that jackass! And he lectures _me_ about my harebrained decisions! Hah!" Fuming, I started towards the temple, hustling Deekin along with me. "Come with me," I snapped. Then I changed my mind. "No, don't come with me! Get Ali! Get someone! There's something happening at the temple!"

"Wait," I heard from behind me, and paused in mid-step. I looked over my shoulder. The Bedine girl was staring past me, to the bodies of her friends. I could still catch glimpses of an ugly red wound through the hole in her robes. It looked like my healing had only worked halfway, but at least she was upright and moving. "Ali will not listen to a known ally of a priestess of the jackal god," she said roughly, tearing her eyes away from the dead. She blinked rapidly. "I will go."

I looked at her sidelong. "And he'll listen to you?"

She arched an eyebrow at me. A faint smile played about her lips. "He should," she said. "I am his sister." She tossed her head. "And if he does not listen to me and our tribe ends here because of his folly, I will spend my afterlife convincing our ancestors that he routinely couples with the family milk goat. It will be an eternity before he escapes the shame."

I stared at her. For the second time, I was startled into a laugh. "Okay," I said. "Fine. Have it your way. Go tell your brother to get his ass up to the temple." I felt another quiver in the earth. "Just do it quickly!" I added in a rush.

Then I grabbed Deekin and ran.

 


	31. Chapter 31

Running hurt.

It hurt my head, which was splitting after my little try at patching up _don't call it healing, that's what clerics do and I'm not a member of any goddamned clergy_ the Bedine girl.

It also hurt the slashes across my ribs. Every step pulled at the open wounds and released a fresh trickle of blood, which was not only a pretty gross sensation but also an increasingly agonizing one.

The pain stabbed at me with every step. I ground my teeth, sucked in a deep breath through my nostrils, and plowed through it.

The adrenaline helped. I had the kind of shaky rush of blood through my body that I just knew I was going to regret later, but there was too much to worry about right _now._ I'd think about the consequences when they happened.

I quickly outdistanced Deekin, who was fast in his way but was also short and bandy-legged and not at all built for running. Not like I was.

My strides lengthened. The temple drew closer, looming in my vision. One of the doors, I noticed, was off its hinges. This seemed strange, but I didn't spare it much thought.

The only thought I had in mind was that Xanos was in there, and he'd gotten himself there because he'd agreed to go steal the soul jar from a lich at least in part to keep the Bedine from killing me, and if that overconfident idiot got himself killed I was going to kill him myself or beg him for forgiveness or possibly both at once and he'd better be okay or I was _seriously_ going to be pissed.

I slowed my steps just enough to slip through the open door.

After the harsh glare of the late afternoon sunlight, the interior of the temple was blindingly dark. I stumbled to a halt, momentarily dazzled. My ribs screamed their bloody reproach at me.

"Well, well," oozed an unfamiliar voice. It combined the gravelly rasp of a lifelong smoker with the rattling breath of a man on his deathbed. It wasn't pretty. "What have we here?"

I froze.

Too late, I noticed the reek of death in the chapel. There was a strange sensation in the air as well. It was as if someone had opened up the top of my head and pounded a bunch of icicles straight into my brain.

I felt the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"A friend of yours, is it?" the voice observed. "And a holy priestess, no less. I can sense the mark of her god on her from here. A pity," the voice went on. "Well, no matter. She will not be so foolish as to interrupt our conversation…will she?"

My eyes started to adjust to the low light. I saw Xanos, leaning against a column at the entrance to the nave. Not far from him, I saw a cadaverous figure. Its skin was brown and withered. Some of it had peeled from the creature's skull, revealing patches of yellowed bone. Its limbs were wrapped in the remnants of what had once been a mage's robe, and red eyes gleamed in a gaunt, leathery face.

It looked like something that had been dead and entombed for a thousand years or more. It shouldn't have been walking, much less talking. But it was.

My mouth went dry. "Kel-Garas," I said hoarsely.

The figure inclined its head in an eerily courtly gesture. "You have the advantage of me, it seems," it said. "And you are?"

I didn't respond. My eyes flickered to Xanos. He was propped against a column. There was a crystalline jar in his hand, its contents nothing but a blur of firefly light. The sorcerer looked haggard, there was a bloody rip across the back of his robes, and he wouldn't meet my eyes. "Xanos?" I asked faintly. Was he buying time for us, keeping the soul jar hostage to the lich's good behavior until reinforcements got here? He wasn't seriously considering a _bargain_ with this thing, was he? J'Nah had been bad enough, but she hadn't made every fiber of my being scream with wrongness the way Kel-Garas did. I stared at him, silently willing him to _look_ at me, to say something. "What are you-"

"Your friend has agreed to parley with me, young lady," Kel-Garas interrupted. "You will not spoil it, will you? No, I do not think so." He made a gesture, and I felt my muscles lock in place. "Now, be still," he told me mildly. "Your friend and I have much to discuss.

I couldn't move. Couldn't even lift a finger. Whatever the lich had done had frozen me in place as if I was buried in wet sand. Sand, or snow. _Snow, white, heavy, can't move, can't breathe…_ My blood felt like it was gellifying in my veins. Was this what true terror felt like?

Kel-Garas turned back to Xanos, who regarded him with unblinking mistrust. The lich stood between the sorcerer and the altar. How the lich had gotten into the nave was beyond me, but he was there, and he wasn't about to let anyone get that soul jar to the one thing in this temple that was still sanctified. "Consider the Bedine," the lich said, his tone the one of someone who was picking up a train of thought where it had been left off. "They are mere dregs, an entire people whom civilized society holds in contempt. They have no homes, no palaces, no great libraries, nothing other than their lives. When they are swept away, no one shall remember them, nor care that they are gone." Kel-Garas paused. "Will _you_ have anything worth remembering, when your time has ended?" he, asked Xanos pointedly.

I stared straight ahead. I couldn't blink. My eyes began to water. My heart thudded. _Deekin,_ I thought. _Where the_ hell _is Deekin?_ For that matter, where were Ali and his sister? I didn't even care if they threatened to take my head off when they saw me. _Anything_ was better than this.

Xanos sneered. Some color crept back into his face. "Hah! Such a ridiculous question!" he scoffed. "Xanos sees through your ploys. Your feeble attempts to instill doubts in my mind are doomed to failure. Xanos will build a great kingdom. His people will raise monuments to him-

Kel-Garas was unmoved. "The ravages of time wear even stone to the ground, and your enemies shall pull down your monuments and use the stone to build their castles," he countered, cutting Xanos off in mid-sentence.

 _Mistake!_ I thought, a giggle of hysteria rising into my immobilized throat. _Xanos hates to be interrupted when he's on one of his spiels. Fancy you not knowing that._

"As for your kingdom…do you truly expect it to outlast your death?" Kel-Garas went on confidently. A chuckle rattled in his throat. "No. It will not. Oh, you are quite strong, and no doubt you will cultivate a nation of great renown," he condescended to admit, and I thought _oh, great, so now you're pandering to Xanos's ego to get him onto your side, you smooth motherfucker._ My heart pounded a frantic drumbeat. Xanos _couldn't_ listen to this creature. He'd carried me out of J'Nah's sanctum when I couldn't walk. He'd walked into a lich's tomb, at least in part to help me. If he let himself be swayed by Kel-Garas's poison, he'd lose his dreams, just like I had when I'd let dad talk me into giving up mine. I didn't want to see that happen. "But your successors will not have your strength," Kel-Garas continued, "And they will allow your kingdom to be divided and then to fall. All you will have accomplished will have been for naught."

I saw a faint flinch cross Xanos's face, saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and I screamed at him from inside my own head. _Don't trust him, you idiot,_ I raged silently. _You've been dumb enough to trust me this far… don't trust him, too! He's playing you like a fucking violin!_

Xanos couldn't have heard my silent ranting. He rallied anyway, of his own accord. I would have cheered, if I was able. "Xanos will rise above all of the petty failures that have come before him," he growled. "He studies. He learns from the mistakes of others. He will not allow his legacy to end that way." His fingers tightened around the soul jar, a fact that didn't seem to escape the lich's notice. "Do you hear me? _I will not allow it_."

I felt something bump against my leg. It was fortunate that I couldn't move or speak. Otherwise I would have screamed like a little girl.

Nimble fingers crept into mine. They were dry and cool and covered in tiny scales, and they gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Ahh, such determination in one so young," Kel-Garas sighed. "And yet…you have orcish blood, do you not? Yes. The lifespans of your kind are short, even by the standards of your human forebears. Your blood may give you fifty years, all told. Perhaps as many as sixty, before old age claims you, and then…" The lich spread his hands, allowing his words to trail off meaningfully. A ropy length of tendon showed through a tear in his sleeve. "How old are you, young sorcerer?" he asked insidiously. "How much time do you think you have left to make your mark on this world?"

Muscles rippled as Xanos clenched his jaw. "Enough time for one of Xanos's resources," he grated. "Enough."

"Ah, but why waste your precious time acquiring power only to have death snatch it from your grasp?" Kel-Garas countered. "There are other ways, young sorcerer. Other avenues for you to explore. I can help you discover them before it is too late."

Deekin's hand slipped away. Then I heard a faint rustle. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a grey shadow move into the deeper shadows beside the nave, behind the place where Kel-Garas stood, barring the way to the altar.

I blinked and jerked my eyes away. Then I noticed what I'd just done, and my heart skipped a beat.

Experimentally, I tried to move my fingers. My pinkie twitched.

I stilled. I didn't want to alert Kel-Garas to the fact that his spell might be lifting. I'd already screwed up enough for one day. Now, more than anything, what I needed to do was _think_.

The lich and Xanos were still talking. "You speak as one who offers a solution," the sorcerer said grimly. "Very well. Say your piece."

The lich gestured placatingly. His nails were as long and yellow as claws. "I have found the solution," he said. "Knowledge is power, young sorcerer. Think of what you might do if you knew half of the things I have learned over the centuries."

Xanos snorted. "Half of a picture is worse than useless," he said. "Xanos would rather have the whole."

The lich seemed to smile. It was hard to tell. His lips were all but gone, and the only indication of their movement was a slight tightening of the exposed muscle and tendon in his jaw and cheeks. "Then the whole you shall have."

Xanos went very still. "Xanos has read of lichdom," he said slowly. "The idea does not appeal to him."

"No?"

"No." The half-orc opened his hand slightly, revealing the soul jar he still held. It looked so tiny, especially in Xanos's massive palm, but then, I suspected that Kel-Garas hadn't had much of a soul to begin with. Xanos studied the jar thoughtfully. "There are too many…vulnerabilities." He smiled humorlessly. "You see, Xanos has studied the paths to power quite extensively. He is familiar with the weaknesses inherent in your current form. He had considered it for himself, yes, but discarded it as…an imprudent solution."

I saw a dun-colored, reptilian hand reach up onto the dais before the altar and grope around, searching.

The lich's burning eyes fixed on the soul jar. "There are other ways to extend life beyond your mortal allotment," he said. "Perhaps we can strike a deal. When the last of the Bedine are gone and I am free of this place, I will offer you a place as one of my trusted lieutenants. Cities will be yours, if you serve me. Nations, perhaps. Or is power your sole aim? Life everlasting? I have many secrets to share. They will be yours, and for such a small price. The soul of one man…"

The seeking, scaly hand fell on Silent Partner. Its fingers closed on the quarterstaff and started to tug. The staff's mithril end caps scraped faintly against the marble floor.

I stared. _Shit,_ I thought fervently. I didn't know what the hell Deekin was thinking, but I was pretty sure that if Kel-Garas knew that he'd been flanked, we were all in it up to our eyebrows.

I looked at Xanos's face. It was twisted in a way that made me simultaneously want to slap him silly and cry for him. Kel-Garas had gotten his hooks in. He knew just where to put them.

But Kel-Garas hadn't travelled with Xanos. Hadn't trained with him. Hadn't spent months having knock-down, drag-out arguments with him. Hadn't faced down dragons and witches and trekked through the mountains with him for weeks on end. Hadn't listened to his ranting long enough to begin to understand how it fucked with a person's head to spend his formative years being treated like a pariah, like a freak of nature who'd have been better off if he'd never even been born in the first place. Hadn't seen how, when someone's been pushed around and humiliated for all of his life, he'd cling to pride and power as his only defenses against a world that seemed to spend most of its time kicking him in the teeth.

I had seen all that, though I hadn't really understood it until now - hadn't put it all together until I saw that look on his face.

I just wished that, knowing what I knew, I could believe that Xanos wouldn't hate me for what I was about to say to him.

Trembling slightly, I raised my voice. "He's not offering you any of what he's got, Xanos," I said hoarsely. Silent Partner vanished over the edge of the dais as noiselessly as its namesake. "He's offering to make you his lackey. His yes man. Is that what you want?" Kel-Garas's head was lifting, his blazing eyes turning my way. An edge of panic raised my voice even further, making it frantic. I twisted the knife. "The mighty Xanos is going to let some shriveled-up corpse tell himwhat to do?" I cried scornfully. "In exchange for what? Whatever table scraps he decides to toss you? The leftovers from his _real_ conquests? You're his dog, now, is that it? You decided that it was just too hard to make it on your own? Since when did the mighty Xanos turn into such a pathetic, bootlicking-"

" _Silence,_ " Kel-Garas said. His voice reverberated with the power of a command, and I found that my voice had stopped working. I closed my mouth and glared at the lich. It might have been more convincing if I weren't shaking like a leaf.

At the entrance to the nave, I saw movement. Silent Partner rose from the ground and seemingly propped itself against a column. I heard a couple of soft clicks.

The lich turned back to Xanos. "The decision is yours, and yours alone, young sorcerer," he said smoothly. "Do not allow another to make it for you."

Xanos clutched at his head. "Shut up!" he roared at the lich. His face was darkly flushed. "You dare to dictate to Xanos! No!" He raised the soul jar threateningly. "Only Xanos decides his fate! He alone! No one – not you, not those fools in his village, not even the dwarf – may have that power over him! No one, do you hear? Xanos is no-"

A loud clatter broke into his words.

All three of us – half-orc, lich, and woman who was so far out of her depth by now that the fish were see-through – turned to look.

Deekin grinned nervously. In one furtive motion, he picked Silent Partner off of the ground and propped it back up against the column. Then he patted it solicitously. "Oops," he said. "Hey, uh…anybody wanna hear a joke?"

Kel-Garas recovered first. He spun to face Xanos. "Treachery! I should have known better than to parley with a mortal," he rasped, and raised his desiccated hands. Light crackled over his palms. "Very well. If you will not cooperate, I will _take_ what is mine." Then he began to chant what sounded like the beginnings of a spell.

"Guess not," Deekin muttered beneath the lich's chanting. He raised his other hand. There was an ivory wand in it. "Hey, uh, Boss?" he called.

I stopped trying to force my limbs to move long enough to shoot him an inquiring glare.

"Don't move," the kobold instructed. He leveled the wand at Kel-Garas and said a word I didn't know.

A fork of searing white light lanced through the air right in front of my nose. I heard a crack of breaking stone. Parts of the temple wall blew outward, great chunks of sandstone vanished in a cloud of dust. A shaft of sunlight broke through, setting the motes of dust to dancing.

For the rest of my life, I'd remember the way my skin prickled as the lightning shot past me on its way to the wall. I pictured myself, blown so thoroughly to smithereens that all they'd find of me afterwards was a pair of smoking boots, and I was glad that I could barely move a muscle, because I was pretty sure that I would have pissed my armor, otherwise.

"Woops!" Deekin yelled contritely. "Sorry about that, Boss! Deekin aim better next time!"

I heard Kel-Garas raise his voice, much the way Drogan did at the end of a spell. A beam of reddish light shot from his hand and hit Xanos, where it sank into the half-orc's skin with a sickly pulse.

Xanos fell to his knees. His face turned the color of lichen, and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl. Other than that, his expression didn't change, not even when he formed a sizzling green sphere between his hands and threw it at the lich. When it reached Kel-Garas, it broke, splattered harmlessly against some invisible barrier like a water balloon against a wall.

I heard running footsteps. I felt warm, living wood pressed into my hands. "Here you go, Boss! Go hit him!" Deekin said cheerily. "Deekin, uh…he kinda outta charges. Wand work really well, but not really much. Sorry." Then he scampered behind the nearest column, leaving me alone.

I stared down at Silent Partner. I could move my arms now, sluggishly, but I couldn't move my legs worth a damn. What did Deekin think I was going to do? Throw the damned thing?

Then I blinked. I remembered what Ali's sister had done. I pictured a scimitar sprouting from a gargoyle's throat. I didn't know if Silent Partner's enchantment was strong enough to get through the lich's defenses...but I figured it had to be worth a shot.

I hesitated. And then, as I watched another whisper of malevolent magic from Kel-Garas make Xanos sway like a tree in a storm, I found myself winding my arm up and launching Silent Partner overhand with a noiseless shout.

The staff whirled past Kel-Garas. It couldn't have touched him, maybe couldn't even have hurt him, but for some reason, he flinched. Maybe it was the remnant of a living reflex, or maybe he felt the hungry snap and tingle of the enchanted zalantar as it passed him, but whatever the cause, he _flinched_ , and ducked away, his concentration momentarily broken.

Xanos saw. He looked at me. Then he looked back at Kel-Garas, and pulled himself upright with one hand. "Kel-Garas!" he roared. "Allow Xanos to show you the folly of lichdom!" He unclenched his fist from around the lich's soul jar. And then he threw it.

The jar shot for the altar, faster than my eyes could trace. One minute it was in the sorcerer's hand, and the next, it was an explosion of tinkling glass against the marble of Lathander's altar.

The golden glow around the altar exploded like a solar flare. It wrapped around the shards of crystal and the firefly thing that writhed and jerked in its grasp, like a fly snared in a spider's web. Then, with a shudder that made the temple's stones groan like the hull of a sinking ship, the altar's glow subsumed the feeble spark of Kel-Garas's soul.

For a moment, I thought I saw the figure of a man near the altar, wavering in the light like a heat mirage. I thought he turned his head to look at me, briefly, because I caught a glimpse of his eyes. They glowed like molten gold. Then I blinked, and he was gone.

The lich screamed something in a language I'd never heard before. The shimmer in the air around him winked out.

Xanos stepped up onto the dais. "Xanos is no one's lackey," he growled. His hand swung upwards, closing around the lich's neck, choking off Kel-Garas's frantic spellcasting. "Yours, least of all." The sorcerer's big, wiry shoulders bunched, and I heard a snap like breaking wood. Kel-Garas's head jerked. I watched as the fires in the lich's eyes flickered and died.

Xanos opened his hand, and Kel-Garas fell limply, like nothing more than a worn-out ragdoll.

Then, before I'd really begun to process what had just happened, Xanos gave a funny little sigh and followed suit.

Deekin beat me to him. I was still having a hard time making my legs work.

The kobold crouched down. He reached out and, as if he expected Xanos to bite, prodded the sorcerer in the shoulder with one long, claw-tipped finger. Xanos didn't move. "Er," the kobold said. "Boss? Green man not look so good. Uh. Worse than usual, that is."

I managed to get one leg moving, and then another. It was like slogging upstream in the Rauvin. _Like running in the snow, come on, Rebecca, you've done_ that _before,_ I thought, and fought my way over to the dais, the last shreds of the spell dissipating as I forged ahead.

Xanos's skin was the color of putty, and shiny, liked melted wax. It felt clammy. I checked his pulse. It was there, but weak. He made no response to this invasion of his personal space, which, to me, was the worst of all possible signs.

For some reason, my eyes were blurring. Must have been the dust. _You big, fatheaded lunk,_ I thought, because I still couldn't make my vocal cords work. _What the hell is wrong with you?_

Deekin sidled closer until he was practically sitting in my lap. "What be the problem, Boss?" he echoed my own thoughts.

I could only shake my head. _Don't know,_ I thought muzzily. I stared at the sorcerer. There was something dark clinging to him, something just at the edge of my normal senses...

Unconsciously, I took a breath, feeling the power in me stir in response. With one hand, I reached out.

Then I stopped, recoiling in revulsion. Touching that darkness was like walking through cobwebs, like having someone goose-step over my grave.

"Boss?" I heard Deekin ask, as if from far away. I ignored him and reached out again, because Xanos's breathing had gone raspy, and my head really hurt, and I wasn't really thinking very clearly anymore.

Whatever curse or draining spell Kel-Garas had hit Xanos with, it made me feel filthy, like I'd been covered in the ash from a crematorium.

 _Well, then,_ I thought in a daze. _We'll just have to blow it away._

I pictured a spark of witchlight, dancing on an open palm. I drew in a breath, feeling that tingle rise from my chest and into my mouth.

Then I leaned forward, pursed my lips, and blew the breath out softly.

A slow breeze seemed to move across the sorcerer's body. It sighed from my lips, cool as falling snow, and washed the darkness and cobwebs away. He took one deep breath, and then another. His fingers twitched.

I heard voices. There were little flashes light at the corners of my eyes. I turned my head to look.

Ali's sister, dirt-smudged and breathless, staggered to a stop. Her eyes fell on the crumpled pile of rags that had formerly been known as Kel-Garas.

"Is that-" she began, stopped, and then restarted. "Is that Kel-Garas? Is he truly…"

She couldn't seem to say it, so I figured I'd do her a favor and say it for her. "Dead?" I asked with a kind of delirious brightness. My voice seemed to be coming back, though it was a sort of emphysemic croak that had nothing to do with my usual voice. "Yep!" I announced happily. There were spots going on and off in front of my eyes. I wondered who was dicking with the lights. I giggled. "Ding-dong, the lich is dead!" I sang, more than a little off-key. My head was _killing_ me, but I felt kind of floaty and weird, so it was kind of as if the hot pounding agony in my temples was somehow happening to another person. I didn't see any problem with that. I giggled again. "You shoulda seen his ruby slippers," I added. "They were _bitchin'._ "

Then another bloom of pain burst behind my eyes. The room gave a strange lurch, and then began to spin. "Oh, crap," I thought I heard myself say, very faintly, as if it was coming from the other side of a long tunnel. "I'm out."

The world went dark.


	32. Chapter 32

_Cold. White. Crushing._ It was all around me, even above me. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

I flailed, fighting free. It was no use. It was like wrestling with an octopus, which didn't make any sense at all. Octopuses didn't get caught in avalanches. Where the hell was I?

I heaved upright with a strangled cry, flinging the thing that covered me out of the way. My heart thudded in my ears.

Fabric rustled. "Had I known that you would react so violently to being covered, I would have let you lie as you are, rather than trying to guard your modesty," a feminine voice remarked mildly.

My eyes adjusted to the light. It was dim, and stiflingly hot. There were voices outside, and the sound of footsteps. Canvas surrounded me on all sides. It made a soft booming sound, like sails, when the wind hit it.

I realized that I was in my underwear. My cloak was lying in a heap on the other side of the room. No, not room – tent. Someone had taken my armor and the clothes beneath it off, settled me on a pile of cushions, and draped my cloak over me as a makeshift blanket. They'd also laid Silent Partner down next to me, a fact that came to my attention when I laid a hand down on the floor beside me and nearly fell over because the floor was suddenly rolling away with a woody clatter.

I struggled to catch my balance. My hands flew to my head. My fingers clutched at my pounding skull, getting tangled in my hair. _Ooh, boy._ That _hurt._

"Carefully, now," the voice said, as if reading my mind. "Your sorcerer friend said that you depleted too much of your magical energies. You should have quite the headache. He recommended that we let you sleep - and by recommended," she added slowly, wearing a somewhat quizzical expression, as if she couldn't quite believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth, "I mean that he told me that he would set me on fire and drop me into the canyon if I dared to even contemplate the possibility of beginning to think of waking you." She pursed her lips. "It is fortunate that he killed the lich and thus indebted us to him. Else, I think I would have had to kill him for his rudeness."

I blinked. Slowly, because moving more quickly might have made my head fall off, I turned to see who was talking. I squinted.

Ali's sister sat cross-legged on a cushion on the opposite side of the tent. She was watching me carefully, her dark eyes glittering in the low light.

My most recent memories were an exhausted blur. Still, some key points stuck out. "Xanos?" I asked hoarsely. "He's awake?"

"Yes. He woke soon after you, ah…left us." Either the lamplight was playing tricks on my eyes, or the Bedine woman's lips had twitched. "He is helping to clear the temple of debris." Her expression turned speculative. "He is very strong, for a mage, but he also complains very loudly."

 _So Xanos is back to bitching. He must be feeling okay._ I was glad that whatever-it-was that I'd done to get that darkness off of him had worked. I just hoped I'd never have to look him in the face again, after what I'd said to him. I tried to shake the thought off. It didn't really work, but it freed up some cognitive space. A few more memories trickled back. "Deekin?" I asked. "Is he okay?"

"The kobold is well. He asked to see you as soon as you were awake." The Bedine woman arched an eyebrow. "I will not inform him of this event, if that is your wish."

I pictured Deekin's usual boisterous rush to, if he'd gone without talking at me for at least ten minutes, wrap himself around my leg and tell me, in detail, everything that happened to him, right down to which nostril he'd picked last or something just as inane. I winced and clasped my head in both hands, trying to stop the pounding. "Thanks for that," I croaked. I looked at her. Now that I had the leisure, I could see other resemblances to Ali aside from the magnificent sloe eyes they both shared. The nose, for starters, but whereas his beak of a nose made him look fierce and more or less fit his face, the same nose on his sister was…well, she was lucky that she had those eyes to make up for that schnoz, that's all I could say. "What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked. "Shouldn't you be with Ali?"

She shrugged. "Ali would not leave you unobserved, and no one else would volunteer to be alone in a tent with a known enemy of the Bedine people," she explained calmly.

I lifted my head long enough to pin her with a skeptical stare. "So you volunteered?" I asked warily.

She shrugged again. A faint wince crossed her face, and she shifted gingerly, her hand going to her side. "My injury limits my ability to help," she explained. "I thought I would be of more use here."

I blinked and grimaced. "Sorry," I mumbled. "You're the first person I've ever tried to do that to. I was kind of making it up as I went along."

She snorted softly. "That much is evident," she said drily.

I flushed. Even when I tried to help, I never seemed to get it quite right. _Story of my life._ "Sorry," I repeated, and ran a hand through my tangled hair. It needed a thorough brushing and washing and I'd have _killed_ for a full-service salon right about then, but all of that was going to have to wait until my head hurt a little less and we had a little more water to spare. "I'm good with herbs and ointments. Just not so much with...that other stuff. Honest."

The woman shrugged again. "Do not apologize," she said. "To be truthful, I think I would be dead now, had you not intervened." Her tone, as she discussed the prospect of her own death, was remarkably unperturbed. She studied me thoughtfully. "You have my thanks," she added.

I hesitated. "Glad I could help," I said at last. I tried to sit up, my own hand going to my throbbing ribs. In addition to stripping me to my skivvies, someone had thought to dress the wound, though not very well. The linen wasn't especially clean, sloppily tied, and it was already stiff with dried blood and would need changing. "Oh, lord. Who bandaged this?" I asked, dismayed.

It was the other woman's turn to hesitate. "I did," she said. "We…have no healers among us. It was the best I could do."

 _Oops._ I flushed again, imagining the shorter woman peeling my inert body out of my armor and underclothes and wrapping bandages around my ribs while she still had a gouge in her stomach to worry about. "Oh," I said lamely. "Well, you did a good job. Um. Very nice knots." I could tell that she didn't believe me, but she politely refrained from making an issue of it, and I politely refrained from saying that she shouldn't quit her day job. By such concessions were awkward social encounters made a little less awkward. "I do have a salve that might help, though," I added with a little more tact. "Is my pack around here somewhere?"

It was, though when I tried to stand to go get it, I had to sit back down again precipitously. My head swam, and my stomach heaved.

The Bedine woman motioned for me to stay where I was. "I will get it," she said, though she moved stiffly and slowly and didn't seem to be in much better shape than I was. "What do you require?"

"That…that bottle of greenish powder. Oh, and that pouch there – no, not that one, the white one with the blue drawstring." I took the objects in question, murmuring thanks. "Perfect. Do you have any water left? I just need a cupful – boiled, if you can." Pain sliced through my head. I winced. "Make that two cupfuls."

She unearthed a mostly depleted skin of water and emptied it into a kettle. In short order, she had the water boiled and I had the salve mixed up.

"What is that for?" she asked curiously, pointing at the salve.

"Our cuts," I replied absent-mindedly, sprinkling a scant handful of reagants across the steaming surface of a small cupful of water. "I think it's some kind of an antiseptic or something. Don't ask me for the details. I slept all the way through biochem." I caught her blank look, and realized that I'd just used some terminology that probably didn't get used around these parts. I paused to retune my brain to radio Abeir-Toril. "It'll keep the wounds from festering," I said. "Don't worry. I don't know how it works, but it works."

Her face cleared with understanding. "Oh, I see," she said. Then she pointed at the tea. "And that?"

"Willow bark and fenberry," I said, and sipped it as I worked, grimacing. "For my head. It speeds healing, too. You should have some. It's good stuff."

She looked at me speculatively. "You are a master of herb lore?" she asked.

I started to laugh, felt like my head was about to crack like an egg, and stopped abruptly. "No," I said. "I just had a couple of very good teachers, that's all." I wondered how Farghan was doing. Probably fine, especially with Bethsheba looking out for him. More wistfully, I thought of Harry. He'd been dead for a while now. What had it been, a year and a half? More? I wondered if his grave was still marked, and if I could find it again if I were to go looking for it. It might have been nice to pay him a visit. _Maybe I'll take a little detour before I leave for home,_ I mused. _It shouldn't take_ that _long._ Maybe I'd give him an update on my life since he'd left it. He wasn't likely to respond, but then, he'd never said much even when he was alive, so in that sense it'd be just like old times.

I drank my tea before tackling the whole bandaging issue. I'd hoped that the willow bark would help with the pain across my ribs, but I was soon to be disabused of that notion. The linen bandages crackled as I peeled them from my skin. Sometimes they got stuck to the gummy, scabbing lacerations across my chest. Tears sprung to my eyes. _And I thought band-aids were bad,_ I thought. _Jesus._ I could have given the bandages a quick yank and gotten it over with in one go, but I pictured peeling my skin off with the linen, and I lost my nerve. So, instead, I suffered through the whole slow, painful process, my teeth clenched and my breath seething between them. I was sweating copiously by the time I was done.

When it was all over, I dropped the bandages to the ground and peered down at myself, with some difficulty and a bit of contorting. Men had it easier. They didn't have breasts to obstruct their view of their own anatomy.

Dried blood flaked from my skin as I moved. The edges of the cuts looked red and ugly. I consoled myself with the knowledge that, if I hadn't been wearing armor at the time, the cuts would be looking a _whole_ lot uglier. It wasn't much of a consolation.

The Bedine woman watched me. "You will have an impressive scar," she remarked.

I sighed. "Yeah," I said morosely. I poked at my ribs and winced. Then I picked up a clean square of linen, soaked it in some of my precious brandy, and began to dab the area clean. "I seem to be getting a lot of those lately."

She cocked her head. "Why do you lament this?" she asked. She seemed surprised. "My uncle always said that each scar tells a tale of an enemy defeated. I would like to have more scars, myself. I have so few." She rolled up her sleeve to show me a shiny burn scar painted along the inside of her forearm. "I have this one, but Ali says I cannot claim it as a mark of victory," she said. Her eyes flashed with frustration. "I burned the undead creature that was attacking our mother. The flame touched me, but I did not stop until the monster was dead. _I_ think the mark was well-earned, but Ali…"

I tried to listen. It was hard. Alcohol burned like a motherfucker when it came across an open wound. "What's…his problem?" I managed to ask. "Doesn't…gah…want…his little sister…cramping his…style?"

She tossed her head. "Ali does not want me here. He thinks I should be in hiding, with the other women." Her tone was scornful.

I looked up at her. "And you don't?" I asked.

Her eyes darkened. "Our father is dead," she said flatly. "So are our uncles. I was to leave with the women and children and those who are too old to fight, but I am young and strong. Our uncle Hammad taught me the dance of the blades, before he…before he was taken by the lich." She shook her arm back into its sleeve, the gesture agitated. "How was I to leave, knowing what fate awaits my brothers? What right does Ali have to keep me from this fight? It is mine as much as it is his! "

I took a moment to breathe, and then scooped some salve onto my fingers and began to spread it over the angry red slices across my ribs. I could see now that there were two of them, starting not far beneath my sternum and running to just beyond the lower right side of my ribcage. Now that they were cleaner, they didn't look as bad as I'd feared they might be. With any luck, they'd heal well, fade with time, and I'd have an excuse to go find a nice, handsome man somewhere and offer to let him see my scars. I could live with that. "So how'd you convince your brother to let you stay?" I asked curiously.

A smug smile crossed her face. "I did not ask him," she said. "I left with the others, as planned. Then I snuck back into the encampment under the cover of night and hid in the tomb of our great ancestor, al-Rashid. I waited there for two days and two nights." She smirked. "By the time Ali found me, it was too late to send me away."

I blinked at her. Then I laughed. "Oh, you _go_ , girl," I said admiringly. I dabbed the last smidgeon of salve on the cut on my cheek, which was shallow and hopefully would leave only the slightest of marks. Then I unwound a length of fresh bandages and started wrapping my ribs in linen, or trying to. It was, I was discovering, a lot harder to bandage yourself than it was to bandage others. My arms and shoulders didn't quite bend the way they needed to in order to get the cloth to lie flat. "I'll bet that pissed your brother off something fierce."

Her smirk grew wider. "He was furious," she said, and tossed her head stubbornly. "But I will prove to him that I am as worthy a warrior as any man. He will see." She watched me wrestle with my bandages. Then she stood, stiffly, and hobbled over to kneel heavily next to me. "Lift your arms," she commanded. "I will help."

Startled, I complied, and between the two of us we managed to get the bandage secured. "Thanks," I said, once it was done. Then I picked up the salve and looked at her. "All right," I added. "Your turn. Let me see how well that gargoyle carved _you_ up."

We had some trouble working around her robes, so she eventually gave up on modesty and pulled them over her head, after shooting a wary glance at the tent flap. She was shorter and more full-figured than me, and might have been plump if she'd lived an easier life in an easier place. As it was, she was built like a brick shithouse. This was a problem when it came to first-aid. If my own, rather modest rack had gotten in the way, her much more impressive one was a serious obstacle. I pursed my lips thoughtfully. "Lean back," I ordered. "Straight, please. Now, lift your arm. Good. Don't twist around too much. It'll make the cut harder to clean." I sank to my knees beside her and peered at the wound. It was nastier than mine, and looked like it would still need a few stitches, despite my previous attempts to close it. There was no way I could see how treating it _wouldn't_ cause her a certain amount of pain.

I thrust my flask of brandy under the Bedine woman's nose. "On second thought…drink this first," I said, in tones that brooked no argument. Then I sterilized my needle in the fire, fed a thread through its eye, took a steadying breath, and set to work.

There was a lot of writhing, panting, and choked screaming on her part, and a lot of apologizing on mine. It was one of the least enjoyable experiences I'd been through in recent memory, though the encounter with Kel-Garas still ranked up there at the top. Still - if it was unpleasant for me, it had to be seriously shitty for her. "Sorry, sorry," I chanted, laying a soothing hand on her stomach before picking up my pot of salve and smoothing the stuff over the cut. I knew it would take some of the pain away, and so I wanted to get it applied as soon as humanly possible. "Almost done."

It was at that point that I heard a commotion outside. Someone shouted something at someone else.

Then Xanos walked in.

"Aha! There you are!" he boomed. "Xanos has been looking…all…over…for…" His words trailed off. He looked at us, and seemed, belatedly, to take in a few details. Slowly, his face began to turn purple.

Ali's sister squeaked and grabbed her robes, covering herself. Her face was the color of a ripe cherry, a shade which actually coordinated pretty well with Xanos's complexion, since he was looking more and more grape-colored. All we needed now was for my liver to finally call it quits and turn _me_ as yellow as a pineapple, and then, between the three of us, we'd be able to do a damned good impression of a fruit basket.

I pursed my lips. _Two women, both in their underwear, covered in blood, one lying on the floor and screaming…yeah. No way this is going to look good._ On the other hand, I'd never seen the half-orc so speechless. It was almost worth the awkwardness."Xanos?" I asked mildly.

His eyes bulged slightly. He should probably have taken them off of Ali's sister, but he seemed incapable of doing so. I couldn't blame him. The girl was stacked. "Nngh?"

"We're a little busy here." I phrased it as delicately as possible, but still it didn't come out quite the way I'd intended it. "Why don't you wait outside?"

Dazedly, he nodded. Then he turned around jerkily and stumbled out of the tent.

When he was gone, Ali's sister and I looked at one another.

I'm not sure who started laughing first. I just know that, after a while, I had to sit down and swipe tears of laughter from my eyes.

"I hope he says nothing to Ali," the girl said eventually. Her shoulders were still shaking intermittently. "I am sure it was an accident. I would not like my brother to kill him to defend my honor."

"Don't worry. Xanos won't say anything. He's probably too embarrassed to tell anyone what happened," I said. Another laugh bubbled up. "Speaking of your brother…did Ali really molest the family goat?"

She giggled. Her face was still red. "No," she said. "But his wife looks very much like one."

I stopped laughing. "Oh," I said. "He's married?"

The other woman looked at my face. I must have looked particularly bummed out, because she laughed and said, "Yes. But I have other brothers who are not."

I snorted a laugh and gestured for her to raise her arms and drop her robes so that I could finish winding the bandages around her waist. "Do they all look as good as Ali?"

She shrugged. "I would not know," she said. "They are my brothers. To me, they are all goats." Then she stood. She squirmed back into her robes and buckled her sword belt around her hips. "You will come with me now," she announced imperiously.

I blinked at her. I stood, placing my hands on my hips, and looked down at her. "I _beg_ your pardon?" I asked coolly.

She scowled. Her posture, arms crossed beneath her breasts and shoulders hunched, nearly bristled with uncertain defiance. "We have wounded, but we are warriors. We have none among us who are wise in the ways of herb lore, as you are. No healers. Ali sent them all away, because they are old women and cannot fight." Her posture was defensive, but her eyes were uncertain. "I will vouch for you and make certain my kinsmen do not interfere, but…please. You must come."

I stared at her, nonplussed. "Me?" I echoed. _Two hours ago, she was threatening to take my head off. Now she's practically begging me to help her._ I would have thought it would be gratifying to see the tables turned on these Bedine, but mostly I just thought of the men I'd seen, dying in a dead land.

"I'll do what I can," I muttered eventually, looking away. "I'm going to have to get dressed, though...unless you want me to give those brothers of yours a show." I gestured. "There should be clean clothes in my pack."

The girl blushed at that. She bent, scooped up my pack, and held it out to me wordlessly. Her eyes watched me with a strange expression, half wariness and half hope. I could only look at it for an instant before I had to look away again.

I put aside my armor and changed into something slightly less filthy. It was too hot for armor, and with Kel-Garas and his armies dead, there didn't seem to be any point in wearing it. "You know, I never did catch your name," I said, kicking Silent Partner up into my hands.

The Bedine woman turned at the tent's threshold, her hand resting easily on the hilt of her scimitar. "My name is Nadiya," she said proudly. "Nadiya bint Musud." She stared at me curiously from behind a tangled fall of dark hair. "And yours?"

Her last name meant nothing to me, though it obviously meant a lot to her. Then again, mine would probably mean nothing to her, so far away from where it belonged. "Rebecca," I said. "Just Rebecca."

"Just Rebecca? No family name?"

I squinted up at the clear blue sky. "Yeah," I said. "But it's not really important."


	33. Chapter 33

That was how I found myself in the middle of the godforsaken desert, holding on to a screaming man while Nadiya tried to jam our patient's shoulder back in its socket.

Our patient fainted immediately afterwards. I felt damned close to doing the same.

I laid his head down, as carefully as my trembling hands would allow. Then I dropped backwards out of my crouch, my backside hitting the sand with a bone-jarring thud. Shakily, I fumbled for my flask.

Once I'd gotten the flask open, I turned it up eagerly. A few drips of brandy slid down my throat, seeming to evaporate on contact. And that was it. It was gone.

I'd given willow bark tea to some of the men, the ones with the smallest injuries and least pain. The ones who seemed to be suffering from the post-traumatic stress of the battle, I'd plied with valerian until they were calmer. The ones with the really painful injuries, I'd dosed with extracts of mandrake until they were off in their own little world, which was a damn sight better than the world they'd been in before I got there with my little pouches and vials.

I'd moved robotically from one casualty to the next, Nadiya following me like a helpful shadow. My training, the training Farghan and Drogan had drilled into me over the past year and a half, took over.

I didn't think. I didn't dare to. There were too many men down, and as soon as I began to question whether I'd done the best I could for one of them, there was another one waiting, and I had to leave my doubts behind and move on.

There had been one man in particular that I was pretty sure I'd never be able to forget. His stomach had been torn open by a hungry zombie, showing loops of glistening pink and purple and red when I pulled back the blanket that covered him. I'd looked into him, my vision doubling, and seen his faltering heartbeat and the damage that seemed to go on forever, and I hadn't the slightest idea, not the _slightest_ fucking idea, how to fix it.

Nadiya had looked at me from across his body and asked what I could do for him. She seemed to think I could do something. I wanted to scream at her for her blind, _stupid,_ inexplicable faith in me, to tear my hair or hers or both, but I was so tired, and all I could do was stare at her dully for a very long moment.

Then I looked down at the man, and told him that he would be fine, that the pain would go away soon, to just relax. I uncorked a little vial of a juice I'd distilled from those little purple berries that Harry had shown me, and Farghan had warned me never to use unless I absolutely had to. I dribbled a few drops of it between the man's lips.

Then I took his hand in mine and waited.

His panting grew shallower, and his eyes soon drifted shut. With my second sight, I watched his heart flutter irrhythmically in his chest, the beats coming slower and slower. It felt like I had to wait for hours, though it was probably just a minute or two.

When the man's heart finally stopped, I took my hand away, drew the blanket up over his face, and moved on. I couldn't stop to look back. I couldn't think. I didn't dare to.

By then, the runners Nadiya had sent out for water had been coming back empty-handed, their skins and jugs exhausted. The oasis hadn't refilled yet, despite Kel-Garas's death. Xanos and Deekin were there, trying to figure out why, but in the meantime, we had to make do.

Because I could no longer brew any tea to give to the wounded, I started giving them nips from my flask, to make it easier for them. I hadn't drunk any for myself. It was just too damned hot, and anyway, I wasn't the one with the dislocated shoulders or broken limbs or open, festering wounds. It wouldn't do for the camp's only medic to drink herself into a stupor, or to dehydrate herself to the point of collapse.

Now, though, I could _really_ have used a drink - but even that was gone. I had nothing left.

I laid my forearms across my knees and lowered my forehead onto them. Maybe I'd take a nap. My head felt like it had been stuffed with angry hornets. I didn't understand why I couldn't stop shivering. It wasn't as if it was cold. As a matter of fact, the sun was brutal, though there was still a remnant of a breeze in the valley. It was cool on my sweat-damp cheeks.

Someone shook my shoulder. "Rebecca," Nadiya whispered. "Wake up. Get up. It is not good for you to sit in the sun like this."

I raised my head blearily. "There's no shade in this place," I mumbled.

"There is in the tents. In your caravan, too." She tugged at my arm. "Come. One of your little folk has been looking for you. I will bring you to him."

I let her pull me to my feet, both of us stumbling. "But…there are more. I can't stop-"

"Your medicines are all gone. You must rest now. There is nothing more you can do."

I looked over my shoulder at the rows of men, groaning beneath dirty canvas awnings. "But-"

She tugged at my hand. "Come," she ordered, and I staggered after her, the inside of my head buzzing, buzzing.

Torias was waiting by the shade of a tent.

"Wotcha, Legs," the halfling hailed me in uncharacteristically subdued tones. His voice was muffled, his mouth and nose swathed by a knit scarf. It was yellow and blue and butt-ugly and looked like it had been knit for him by some doting, colorblind old aunt. Strange, the things you noticed at times like these. The halfling's midnight blue eyes were bloodshot and a little googly, as if he'd seen some things he'd really like to unsee. "Sweet Cyrrollalee! I hope none of that blood is yours," he added, aghast.

I looked down at myself. There was blood all over the front of my shirt. I hadn't noticed it before. I looked back up, blinking dumbly. "No, it's…it's not." I blinked again. My eyes felt gritty. "What are you doing here?" I asked instead.

"Something I'd rather not be doing, but my dear cousin was in no mood to hear that." The halfling pulled a hip flask from his belt. He tugged his scarf down and took a long swig, his motions a little jerky. "We found Zidan," he gasped when he resurfaced for air. His nostrils flared, and his skin turned a little green. He yanked his scarf back up. "These fine Bedine folk were kind enough to send someone out to tell us when the coast was clear. They've been helping us have a look for him."

I blinked and rubbed my eyes. "Oh," I said. "Good. Well, give him a drink and send him back to Katriana, then-"

Torias slanted me a strange glance from the corners of his eyes. "I don't think you understand me, Legs," he said. "We're not sending him back to Katriana."

I blinked for a third time. I still didn't understand. "What?"

"We're not sending him back to Katriana," the halfling repeated patiently. "Leastwise, not unless it's in a pine box." He looked at my face for a few long moments. Then he unhooked his hip flask from his belt, uncorked it, and handed it up to me. "Here," he said. "Looks to me like you need some spiritual reinforcement."

Staring straight ahead, I grabbed the flask from his hands and tossed it back in one motion. The whiskey hit me like a hammer, and I lowered the flask, my eyes watering. I swayed slightly. "Where is he?" I croaked.

Torias pulled out another scarf and handed it up to me. This one wasn't as ugly as the first one, though it came close. "I'll take you to him," he said shortly. "Wear this."

Nadiya looked back and forth between us. "I will inform Ali," she said. Her eyes narrowed. "And I will make sure that my brother gives you what assistance you need to recover your friend," she promised grimly.

There were corpses piled at the opposite end of the valley. There were Bedine moving among them, separating the recently dead from the recently undead. Most of the corpses were garbed in the Bedine way, but I thought I saw others, dressed in flashy silks that no Bedine would wear, or wearing the remnants of leather and chain. Merchants, maybe, and their bodyguards. _For all the good it did them,_ I thought bleakly. Warriors or scholars, they'd all died just the same.

Flies buzzed all around us. I smelled rot. I smelled the metallic tang of blood - on me, and all around me.

I wanted to cry. I couldn't. If I cried, I wouldn't be able to see, wouldn't be able to find Zidan. So I pulled the scarf up, my breath hitching and my eyes painfully clear.

Muffled to the eyebrows and trying not to breathe, I followed Torias, picking my way through the dead.

Torias led me to one of the black-robed bodies. It wore a familiar blue-striped keffiyah, and the face was one I'd gotten used to seeing on the other side of the campfire.

I stared down at Zidan. He'd been turned after dying – there was a mix of old and new wounds on him, the older showing signs of decay.

I knelt next to his body. He looked so different, like a wax effigy of the person I'd once known. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I reached out hesitantly. My vision shifted, but there was nothing there for me to see. No spark, no blood, no life...nothing. Just an impenetrable blankness and a weight on my shoulders like a mantle of lead.

Ali caught up to us as we stood there, silently staring. He nodded curtly in greeting. I noticed that he still didn't take his hand away from his scimitar, though.

The young Bedine sheikh looked at Zidan. "This is your man?" he asked. We nodded glumly. Ali touched his fingers to his forehead, then to his lips and heart. "Very well. What would you have us do with him?" he asked quietly. His offer was startling in its courtesy, even if Nadiya had probably browbeaten him into making it. Then again, I'd found that the Bedine were nothing if not courteous - even when they were threatening to kill me. It was just one of those quirky cultural things, I supposed.

I looked at Torias. He shrugged uncomfortably and looked at the ground, studying it as if he were a fossil hunter who'd just found the missing link. Finding no help there, I looked back at Ali, tugging my scarf down to my neck so that I could speak. "What do the Bedine usually do for their dead?" I asked, forcing the words out with difficulty.

"We make a pyre and give the ashes to the night winds."

I felt numb. My mind clicked over automatically, searching for the right questions, the right angles to make sure this went okay. Zidan deserved better than a botched funeral just because I'd overlooked or misunderstood some obscure ritual, and Torias was busy hitting the bottle again. He obviously wasn't going to be of much help. Not that I could blame him. I'd have been doing the same, if I'd had any brandy left to do it with. "Do you have any objection to letting Zidan share a pyre with the members of your tribe?" I asked.

"None. He is Bedine, and he is not our enemy. We will accord him the honor we would one of our own tribe, if it is also your wish."

"May we witness the ceremony?"

"You may, if you do not interfere."

I opened my eyes and stared at the searing blue sky. My words came as if by rote, guided by the memory of all those years of galas and cocktail receptions and museum openings where I'd been expected to smile and say the right things and play the sparkling hostess to people who'd hated me almost as much as I hated them. "Zidan was a good man and a loyal guide. He deserves to be laid to rest with his own people." _Such bullshit_ , I thought. _He's not resting. He's dead._ "We'll be honored to attend. Please let us know when you plan to start the ceremony," I said, and together with Torias I returned to the caravan to give Katriana the news.

Torias chickened, as I was afraid he would, leaving me to deliver the news of Zidan's death alone. "Better the bad news come from you than from me," he told me. "Katriana won't box _your_ ears." I would have hit him with my staff, but I was just too damned tired.

Katriana took my announcement _– "We found Zidan. No, don't get your hopes up, trust me on this one."_ – poorly. "How are we supposed to make it the rest of the way across the desert without him?" she exploded. "We need a guide, damn it!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. My headache was coming back in earnest, and I was clean out of painkillers. "We'll worry about that when it's time to leave," I said. "We'll have to wait here a couple of days, anyway…no, don't scream, _listen_. The water's coming back, but it's going slowly." That was a lie. There still wasn't any water yet. Last I knew, Xanos and Deekin had been working on it, but if I told Katriana about the little problem we were having she'd never get off of their backs and let them work. "If we want those barrels filled, and I assume we do, we'll have to wait."

"Wait?" the halfling woman snapped incredulously. She flung a hand out, gesturing at the surrounding desert. "Out here? Unprotected? We can't afford that! What if we get ambushed?"

I ground my teeth together. "Ask the Bedine if you can move the wagons into the wadi," I said, a little too evenly. "It's safer in there now that the lich is dead."

Katriana frowned, seeming slightly mollified. "All right," she said briskly. "See to it."

My molars were going to be reduced to stumps if the woman kept this up. "I don't know if you're up on the latest news, but I'm not exactly the best choice for diplomatic envoy to the Bedine nation," I growled. "They think I worship the friggin' devil."

"Well, tell them you don't and get them to let us in. I fail to see the problem."

I started counting backwards from ten. I was well into the negatives before I no longer wanted to pick Katriana up by the ankles and swing her into the nearest cactus. "Why don't you send Furtan? Or Torias?"

"Because you tall folk never take us seriously. Better if it comes from one of your own."

The racial frictions back home were starting to look like a goddamned tea party compared to this. "I'll think about it," I said, because if I told her I'd try to do what she'd asked, she'd take my success as given and move the wagons in as soon as she could break camp.

I didn't know how I'd suddenly become the go-to girl for these things. It just seemed like everyone else was shutting down in response to this latest crisis, and I was the only one who was still moving.

I couldn't have stopped even if I knew how, though. Stopping was dangerous. It meant I'd start thinking.

I'd have to talk to Nadiya, I decided. She'd already demonstrated a knack for talking her big brother into things he didn't want to be talked into, and she seemed to be the only person in her tribe who was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. If anyone could help us, it'd be her.

When I returned to the oasis, though, Nadiya was nowhere to be found. Somewhat at a loss, I decided to go looking for Xanos and Deekin, instead. I found them standing on the shore of the parched oasis, looking down in the basin with almost identical expressions of glum defeat.

I sat down next to Deekin, laying Silent Partner across my lap. "Any luck?" I asked perfunctorily.

The little kobold squinted his inner eyelids against the sunlight and tapped his clawed fingers together nervously. "Er," he said.

One corner of my mouth quirked up into a weary smile. "That doesn't sound good."

"How very astute of you," Xanos drawled sarcastically. "Truly, it must be for this keen and incisive intellect of yours that your god has chosen you."

I looked up at the sorcerer. He looked sweaty and tired. I thought of Kel-Garas, and how close Xanos might have come to giving in. Then I wondered how I could blame him. Besides, he hadn't given in – that was what was important. He hadn't given in, and, after what I'd said, I owed him a little patience. "Just… tell me what's going on, Xanos," I said quietly.

He blinked. His hackles settled somewhat. "Certainly. Would you like the good news first, or the bad news?" he asked tersely.

I huffed a short, humorless laugh. "You mean there's good news?"

"In relative terms, yes."

"All right. Lay it on me."

He hitched his shoulders in irritation. "Your speech patterns are sometimes confounding, even to Xanos," he said scathingly. "Will you please strive to speak a comprehensible dialect?"

I ground my teeth. My patience slipped. "Is it my fault if you can't understand plain language?"

Xanos and I glared at each other.

Deekin looked back and forth between us. He cleared his throat. "Well, the good news be that the curse be gone," he piped up in his scratchy, high-pitched voice. "There be no reason for the oasis to stay dry."

I looked down, breaking off my little staring contest with Xanos. The oasis still looked as dry as dust, to me. "So why isn't there any water?"

"Er. That the bad news." Deekin pointed. "Do you see that?"

I squinted. "See what?"

Xanos said something in a language I didn't understand. It sounded like a curse. "There are times when Xanos is almost grateful to his orcish father," he muttered. "It must be a burden to see through pathetic human eyes."

My lip curled. The big green jackass was making my vow of patience _really_ hard to keep. "Hey, I'll have you know that I have perfect 20/20 vision."

"Your vision may be good for a human's. That does not mean that it is good by any other standard."

I pictured myself ramming my staff into the back of his knees to get him down to ground level so that I could ask him to repeat himself for the benefit of my pathetic human ears. "All right," I said from between clenched teeth. "Then just _tell_ me what I'm supposed to be seeing."

"Very well. Do you see that darker patch of earth, there at the bottom of the basin? Yes? No? No matter. It is mud." I thought he should have sounded more excited – didn't mud mean water, and wasn't that a good thing? – but he sounded more annoyed than anything. "There is some seepage. However, the aquifer has been dry for too long, and the lich's curse had spread far, so that even the aquifers which should feed this one are also nearly dry."

I drew my legs up and hugged my knees to my chest, staring out over the oasis. "But Deekin said that there's no reason the oasis should stay dry. Won't the water come back?"

The half-orc shrugged. He stared moodily at the basin, as if glowering at the thing would scare the water into flowing. "It will likely return, in time," he said. "But it will take many tendays to refill at this rate. Months, perhaps."

I scowled. "We don't _have_ months," I said angrily. "There's not even enough water here to keep the Bedine going. Unless we make it to the Aoist encampment…"

"We cannot cross the desert without water, either," the sorcerer snapped back. "No one can. If we try we will only die of thirst before we reach our goal, and Xanos refuses to die in such an ignominious way."

He had a point. _Nice move, Kel-Garas,_ I thought bitterly. _Even permanently dead, you manage to keep wreaking havoc._ We probably weren't the only caravan out there, and everyone said this was a major route, maybe _the_ major route across the Anauroch. Traders would be dying out there, faced with the decision to either retrace their steps or risk the crossing without knowing whether they'd find enough water to make it all the way. Then word would get around, trade would slow, maybe stop entirely until a new route was found, and the people who depended on the caravans – for food, for medicine, for weapons to protect themselves and their families from a hostile wasteland – would suffer for it.

It was like someone had cast a truckload of manure into a pond, and it was sending out ripples of shit in all directions.

I folded my arms across my knees and laid my head on my forearms. "Damn it," I said.

I heard a sibilant scrape of scales. "You okay, Boss?" Deekin asked softly.

I didn't raise my head. "Just tired, Deeks." My voice broke a little, which annoyed me. I hoped he wouldn't catch it. I really was tired, so much that I felt like I could curl up right there and sleep until all of my problems went away.

I felt a light touch on my back. Clawed fingers caught in the ends of my hair. "Don't worry, Boss," the little kobold told me cheerfully. "It'll be o-kay. Really." He paused. "You know what we needs right now?" he asked.

Xanos groaned. "Not a song," he grated. " _Anything_ but a song."

"Nah. Deekin was thinking 'bout something different, actually."

"Hah! Will the wonders never cease?"

"Could you two please just stop?" I mumbled to my knees. "Please?"

Deekin patted me on the back again. "Deekin was gonna say…what we needs right now is rain."

My shoulders shook with a brief, tired laugh. "In the desert?" I asked. "Not gonna happen any time soon, Deeks."

"Why not? Boss made it rain in the desert once already. Deekin remember when you made that little thunderstorm over the wagon."

This time I did lift my head. I squinted at the kobold, the sun stinging my bloodshot eyes. "That was an accident, Deeks," I said tonelessly. "Come on. You know that."

"Hey, Deekin learn lots of things by accident!"

I laughed again. This time it was a little more genuine. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't know even know where to start. Besides, I'm dead on my feet. I don't think I could even raise a breeze right now."

The kobold shrugged his skinny shoulders. "So ask for help," he said.

"From whom?"

He shot me a _look_ from his slit-pupiled eyes. It was altogether too shrewd, that look. "You know who," he said, and elbowed me in the shoulder. "Boss's boss."

I stared at him. "You're out of your freakin' mind," I said.

"Aw, c'mon, Boss. What the worst that could happen? You ask your boss, he say no, ba-da-bum, say no more, end of story, am I right?" I was starting to regret teaching him all of those jokes from back home. Little Deekin picked things up far too quickly for my comfort. "But maybe he say yes, and we can get some water and get out of here. It kind of hot and dirty, and the Bedines give Deekin the heebie jeebies."

I looked from Deekin to Xanos. "Aren't you going to talk some sense into him?" I demanded of the sorcerer.

Xanos shrugged at me noncommittally. "If you choose to waste your breath praying for miracles, do not let Xanos stop you," he said.

"Thanks," I said sourly. "You're so helpful I could just scream."

The sorcerer smirked. "Yes," he said sagely. "There are times when Xanos awes even himself."

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Deekin. "It's a ridiculous idea," I insisted. "Besides, how am I supposed to get his attention? The only times I've talked to him have been when _he_ decided to have a conversation with me."

The kobold scratched the side of his snout thoughtfully. His claws rasped against his scales. "Dunno," he admitted. His eyes brightened. "Deekin been reading lots about gods and things, though. Symbols is important. They not just jewelry, see. They kind of a, uh…a connection. Sorta."

"You're telling me that that useless hunk of metal is like a divine walkie-talkie?"

Deekin squinted at me uncertainly. "What be a walkie-talkie, Boss?" he asked.

 _Oops._ "Uh. Nevermind. I'll tell you when you're older." I drummed my fingers of my right hand against the opposite forearm. "Didn't the Bedine confiscate that thing, anyway?" I asked hopefully.

A jingle of heavy silver chain and a glint of dark metal answered my question. Deekin grinned at my sheepishly, the amulet dangling from his claws. "Nah," he said. "Deekin gots it back. He figure Boss not want him to lose it."

I snatched the holy symbol from the kobold's hand and dropped it hurriedly into my lap. "Don't wave that thing around out here," I hissed. "Do you want to get us all decapitated?"

"Sorry, Boss." The kobold didn't sound very contrite. "Anyway, if you wants to talk to your boss, you holds the symbol and then…dunno. You just kinda thinks of him and say stuff until he say something back."

For such a little thing, the damned amulet almost felt like it weighed fifteen tons. I was so painfully aware of its presence that I was privately amazed it hadn't burst into flames on the spot. "What if he doesn't reply?" I asked desperately, stalling for time.

"You keeps talking."

"You want me to nag a god?"

"You already call him names and he not seem to mind. What's a little nagging on top of that?"

I scowled. "When did you get to be so smart?" I grumbled.

The kobold blinked at me owlishly. "Deekin always be smarter than other kobolds," he said simply. "Old Boss say so. That why he teach Deekin. Er. He try, anyway." Deekin scuffed one taloned toe in the dirt. His backwards-facing knees and long toes made it impossible to find a pair of boots for him, but he didn't seem to mind. He'd told me that he got better traction with claws, anyway. "Deekin not learn so well all the time."

I felt guilty, and not a little bemused. "You learn just fine, Deeks," I said. "Maybe a little too well. You pick things up fast." _Like a four-year-old on amphetamines,_ I added privately. It was humbling. I knew I wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer – hell, some days I wasn't even a _spoon_ – but there was something really embarrassing about being slower on the uptake than a kobold. "Don't worry about it."

The kobold wrinkled his snout, seeming embarassed. "Deekin won't," he promised. "Thanks, Boss."

"No charge."

We sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. I sat cross-legged and cradled the holy symbol in my hands, deliberately not looking at it. I told myself that I had to keep it hidden, in case one of the Bedine who hadn't been beaten into submission by Nadiya came too close and decided I was up to something nefarious.

 _Hey, I'd only be trying to fill_ their _oasis,_ I argued with myself. _What's wrong with that?_

 _Yes, but I'll have to ask_ him _for help,_ a different part of my brain retorted. _Do I really want to do that? After all he's done to me?_

 _Yeah!_ I agreed with my own argument. _Like bringing me here…_

_Uh. No. Actually, I did that._

_Since when?_

_Since I decided to walk through that portal in Central Park, that's when._

_So? He told me to follow him and then told me how to do it! What do you call that if not crass manipulation?_

_Um. Well, no….he said I could follow if I wanted to find out who he was, and gave me directions. I didn't_ have _to take them. I could have just blown it off and caught the next plane to Tijuana._

 _Okay, fine, so he didn't_ make _me come here. He certainly hasn't helped any._

 _Oh, you mean like the time he blew that snow in Nathan Hurst's face so that Nathan saw me and dug me out of that avalanche?_ I opened my fingers. The amulet glinted up from my palm. The niggling voice of reason persisted. _Or how about all the times the power Shaundakul has given me has saved my sorry ass?_

 _Hey, wait a minute, that wasn't him!_ the other part of me argued. _I made those things happen!_

_No…no, it was him. At least, it was because of him. Or do I really think I could have done these kinds of things all on my lonesome?_

I tried to marshal the argument that I could have learned magecraft, but even to _myself_ I couldn't make that one fly. As for fighting, well, objectively, I wasn't that bad, but I wasn't that good, either. Sneaking past danger had never been an option. I jingled and scuffed my feet and stubbed my toes and cursed. I couldn't seem to help myself. This power was the only thing I had to even the odds against me.

_Okay, fine. Shaundakul's still a son of a bitch, though. He promised me a portal, you know. Have I seen any lately?_

_Well…no, but I_ am _in a much better position to find it than I would be if Hurst hadn't led me to Drogan-_

_Nah. Coincidence._

_Wanna bet?_

I frowned down at the holy symbol. A breeze brushed my hair back from my face. _Okay, fine, so maybe Shaundakul nudged things a little,_ I admitted to myself _. So why didn't he just pick me up and drop me off in front of the nearest available portal?_

_Maybe he can't. Deekin did say he wasn't the strongest god ever._

_Great. So I'm praying to an ineffectual wimp, is that it?_

_He's not a wimp! He's just…not all-powerful, that's all._

_Yeah, especially after he gave some of his not-so-great power to me. Smart move on His Ineffable Windiness's part._

_Hey, he's the one who decided to do that! I'm not going to beat myself up about it! He wants to give his power away like candy? Let him!_

_Wait. I'm not feeling guilty...am I? Bah! Besides, even if he's not that strong, he's still a god. I felt his power when he gave some of it to me. I know he ain't no pansy-ass motherfucker._

_Okay. So maybe he just knew I'd scream bloody murder if he picked me up by the scruff of my neck and dropped me off in front of some wyvern-infested portal in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he figured I was better off taking the scenic detour or something._

_Yeah. That's probably what it was. Besides, aren't we having fun here? Out in the sun, getting a nice tan, and just smell that fresh, clean air-_

_Christ. I can really be an obnoxious snot when I put my mind to it, can't I?_

Come to think of it, though, the air really did smell better. I'd almost gotten used to the persistent fug of death-rot in the valley, so much so that it had taken me a minute to notice its absence. Maybe the wind had changed.

 _Okay, fine, fine,_ I thought grudgingly _. So I'll maybe ask Shaundakul for some rain. He probably won't even help, anyway._

_Right. He'll probably just ignore me. Then we'll be back to square one, no harm done._

_Right._

I heard a soft chuckle behind me, and froze.

"May I interrupt?" Shaundakul asked politely.


	34. Chapter 34

I screamed like a banshee and spun to face him.

Shaundakul looked the same as ever – longish hair, short beard, handsome in a weatherbeaten sort of way. His cloak rippled in the wind, and his soft, travel-worn boots made no sound – which made sense, seeing as they weren't actually touching anything.

"Son of a _bitch_!" I yelped, fighting to regain my balance and not topple _into_ the oasis. "Why didn't you _say_ something?"

He smirked at me, his grey eyes glinting with laughter. "I just did, my dear."

"I'm not your dear," I said automatically.

He sighed. "Rebecca, child, I do enjoy a good argument, but could we stop repeating that particular one? It has gotten dull."

I frowned at him suspiciously. "What are you going to do?" I retorted. "Spank me?"

His voice was dry. "I will admit that the temptation is quite strong at times."

I narrowed my eyes. In spite of myself, one corner of my mouth kept trying to quirk upwards. I yanked it back down. The resulting struggle probably made me look like I was having a fit. "Well, you almost gave me a heart attack," I said haughtily, and tossed my hair. "Play a fanfare or something next time, would you?"

He quirked an eyebrow amusedly. "If you wish," he agreed.

I stood up, brushing sand off of my clothes. I looked around, and frowned. I was still in the oasis, but there was no one else around – not a living soul in sight besides the two of us, and I wasn't even sure if Shaundakul qualified as living. It was as if the whole desert had been deserted while I was busy bickering with myself. A chill ran down my spine. "Where did everyone go?" I asked nervously.

"They have gone nowhere. They are exactly where they were before."

My eyes darted around nervously. This strange, empty place, filled with nothing but the whistle of the wind, was giving me the willies. "Okay. So where have _I_ gone?"

"Nowhere. You are also exactly where you were before." The god looked at my face. His lips twitched. "You are going to swear at me again," he said. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact.

I'd been on the verge of doing just that. "Stop reading my mind," I grumbled.

"I do not invade your privacy deliberately, dear Rebecca. I know how you think, that is all."

"So you know what I'm thinking before I do?"

"I know what you are likely to think, given your nature."

"Oh, really? So what's my nature?"

"That is for you to discover."

"Do you _ever_ give straight answers?"

"When I am able and it does no harm to do so, yes."

"So you think it'll harm me to know what you think of me."

"It would do you a disservice to color your perceptions with my own." He smiled, and I wondered how his eyes could be as hard and sharp as steel one minute and then as soft as a cloud the next. "You must reach your own conclusions, my dear, hasty child."

Try as I might, I couldn't really find any fault in his reasoning. Aside, of course, from the fact that it was annoying as hell. I gave up on that line of questioning. "So are _you_ really here?" I demanded.

"Yes and no." Shaundakul held up a hand just as my mouth opened to retort. "Enough, Rebecca," he said with an unusual tone of warning in his voice, and my mouth snapped shut almost instantly. "I cannot give you a simple answer to such a complex question. Do not be so foolish. It is not worthy of you." When he seemed satisfied that, busy as I was with turning beet red, I wasn't going to interrupt, he went on, "I am not physically here. Neither are you. We are in…let us call it a waking dream. It is the easiest way for me to appear to you."

I looked down. I felt like a chastened child, and I didn't like the feeling. "I knew this was a bad idea," I mumbled, running my hands through my hair. "Forget it. Just…forget it."

I felt Shaundakul draw nearer. I didn't hear him – he walked without a sound, like a shadow. The wind just got stronger, and the sense of his presence got brighter. "You asked for my help," he said gently. "Why?"

I shrugged my shoulders uncomfortably. "You know what's been happening." My voice was bitter. He _always_ seemed to know what was going on in my life. It was like having a security camera trained on me all day, every day.

His words confirmed it. "Yes."

My lips twisted. "Then you know that the oasis of the Green Palm needs rain."

His voice stung me with its indifference. "It will replenish itself in time."

I looked up, my eyes widening in indignation. "Not enough!" I exclaimed. "We have to cross the desert. We don't have that kind of time-"

His gray eyes were hard again. "You are in no immediate danger."

I drew a sharp breath. "Is that it?" I demanded. "You'll pull my bacon out of the fire if I'm about to bite the dust but if I ask for anything else, you'll cut me off? Is that it?"

The wind whipped at my hair, stinging my eyes. Shaundakul's voice rumbled like a far-off storm. "I will watch over you," he said. "I will comfort you when you despair. I will care for you, in life and all that comes after, if you will let me." His voice went soft, and the wind brushed my cheek. Then his voice hardened again. "But I will not lend my power to petty concerns."

"It isn't petty! It's…"

Shaundakul's expression didn't change. "It is what?" he asked challengingly.

I erupted. "It's life and death!" I shouted at him. "They're _dying_ , don't you see? People are dying out there! The Bedine are down to a handful and without the caravans bringing supplies it'll only get worse and all of those people who come this way expecting water are going to die and I can't-" My chest heaved. I covered my face with my hands, my fingers forming into claws. I closed my eyes. I couldn't look at my hands. I was sure I'd see the blood on them still. "I can't stop it," I sobbed. "I can't help them. They're dying and they'll keep dying because there's no water and it's all gone wrong but I can't fix it and I d-don't know what to d-do…" I didn't know what I was saying anymore. The tears choked the words away.

Then, as I stood crying, a shadow enfolded me. The wind filled my ears, murmuring a lullaby. It smelled like a clean summer rain, like fresh-fallen snow, like the deep dark forest where Harry and I had spent so many happy weeks wandering when I'd first come to this world. It carried the lonely cry of a hawk and the rustle of grass and leaves and the scent of dusty, sun-warmed earth, and it held me and stroked my hair as I cried.

After a while, the sobs stopped shaking me quite so hard, and the tears slowed to a trickle. I sniffled, leaning gratefully against something solid and warm. I'd been wrapped in the folds of a dark, worn cloak, and there were strong arms around me.

My heartbeat slowed. The world might have been going to hell all around me, but, for this moment, in this place, I almost felt safe. I felt loved and protected, the way I had when I was a little girl and mom and dad would check for monsters under bed and comfort me after I'd had a nightmare.

It was strange, though. My cheek was resting against a solid-seeming chest, but I couldn't hear a heartbeat. Neither could I feel the rise and fall of his breathing. All I could hear was the wind, whistling all around me.

A reel ran in my brain, replaying the last several minutes. Recollection began to flicker. I stiffened. "Let go of me," I growled, my voice slightly muffled. "Or I'll blow my nose on your beard."

Shaundakul barked a laugh. "I have heard many strange threats in my time," he said. "But that…that, I have never heard before." His arms slid from my shoulders, and he stepped back, gathering his cloak around him once again. He was still chuckling. "My dear, cantankerous Rebecca. You are a delight."

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him impotently. "I'm _so_ glad to have entertained you," I drawled sarcastically.

"You do not entertain. You charm. You perplex. You enlighten. You try the patience I have so carefully cultivated over these many years. But you are no idle amusement, my dear." Shaundakul smiled at me, and it was like watching the sun come out after the rain. "Your motives do you credit," he said, with a trace of paternal pride. "I will help you."

I stared at him, open-mouthed. "What?" I asked dumbly. "You mean you'll do it?"

The god shrugged. "Certainly," he said easily. "After all, we must lend a helping hand wherever we may."

I kept staring at him. Then my eyes narrowed in suspicion. He'd given in _way_ too easily. "You never planned on saying no," I said flatly.

He gave me a look of bland innocence. "Didn't I?" he asked.

"No." I tapped my foot, suddenly incredibly irritated. Now that I was no longer so upset, my brain began working again. "There's no real reason for you not to help. You even _told_ me to do this kind of thing when we first got into this. In fact, there's plenty of reason for you to get involved – the Bedine think you're the devil, thanks to Beshaba, and a little rain might go a long way towards fixing that, now wouldn't it?" I crossed my arms and frowned. "You were just testing me, weren't you?" I demanded. "You wanted to make sure I was really serious about this, that's all."

He laughed again, softly. "No," he said. "I wanted you to know your own mind. You would not have done so without my opposition."

I scowled uncertainly. "That's bullshit."

He arched an eyebrow at me. "Do you speak to all the gods this way?" he asked mildly.

"No. Just you."

His lips twitched. "Oh? In that case, I am honored." Then his image began to waver, like a fading mirage. "Return, my most wilful child, and wait for my sign," he called.

I glared after him. He obviously hadn't lost the habit of vanishing when I least expected it. "What sign?" I shouted in exasperation. "How will I know?"

"Ask your faithful little bard," came the answer. "He will know."

Then the desert blurred, and I was back in the heat and the stink, and someone was waving a hand in front of my face and yelling.

"Ye gods, woman, have you finally lost your wits?" Xanos barked in my ear. He grabbed me by the shoulder with his other hand and shook me roughly. "What is wrong with you? Wake up!"

I blinked and held up a hand, catching the half-orc by the wrist. My lips felt dry and cracked, and my head was hurting. "How long have I been out?" I croaked.

The sorcerer stopped and looked at me sharply. "Not long," he said. "But you would not respond. Xanos was…" His lips writhed. His glare sharpened. "Xanos was _not worried,_ " he spat. "Not at all. Hah! I, concerned for the welfare of a foolish, would-be divine bootlicker? The very idea! Xanos was merely doing his duty by the dwarf by making sure that you survive this trip in one piece."

I peered up at him. Then, suddenly, I smiled. "Did you know that your left eyelid twitches when you lie?" I asked him innocently.

He blinked and raised his other hand to his face, suddenly visibly chagrined. "It does?" he asked.

"Yeah. A little."

"Blast. Xanos must strive to correct that."

"You do that," I replied blandly.

"Certainly," he returned sweetly. "Just as soon as you loose your death-grip on my wrist."

I let go of him. "What's the matter, Xanos?" I teased. "Afraid sanity might be catching?"

His lips twitched up into a smirk. "Sanity? From a liquor-addled she-demon like yourself?" he retorted. "Not at all."

"Ooh. That was a good one."

He bowed mockingly. "Thank you."

"No charge," I replied easily, and I found myself smiling. As long as Xanos and I were still trading insults, life, I reflected, still felt almost normal. "Where's Deekin?" I asked abruptly, changing the subject.

I heard the scrabble of talons. "Here," the kobold said from somewhere near my elbow. He shuffled around until he was crouched at my side. His eyes were bright. "How you doing, boss?" he asked eagerly. "Did it work?"

I frowned. "I…I think so." My forehead furrowed thoughtfully. "Hey, uh, Deeks?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you know about signs?"


	35. Chapter 35

_And the taste of dried-up hopes in my mouth_  
 _And the landscape of merry and desperate drought_  
  
_How much longer, dear angels_  
 _Come break me with ice_  
 _Let the water of calm trickle over my doubts_  
 _Come, let me drown_

_Once I knew myself_   
_And with knowing came love_   
_I would know love again if I had faith enough_   
_Too far is next spring and her jubilant shout_

_So angels, inside_   
_Is the only way out_

_\- Vienna Teng, "Drought"_

* * *

 We waited at the edge of the oasis. We were searching for a sign. So far, we hadn't found it.

"This is idiocy," Xanos grumbled. "We should find shade. Xanos is beginning to feel bilious."

"There's an oasis right there. If you're going to hurl, try to aim for it," I suggested, a slight edge to my voice. I was sitting cross-legged on the sand, Silent Partner resting comfortably across my knees. My eyes scanned the sky. "I'm sure any liquid's better than none." The sorcerer shot me a glare that should probably have left a smoking crater where I'd been sitting, but he demonstrated what was, for him, great forebearance, and he said nothing. With the mood I was in – that we both were in, from the looks of it - that was probably for the best.

Time went by, punctuated only by the soft _snikt_ of turning pages and, every so often, the soft thump of a book being dumped out of the strange blue sack that Deekin always carried around with him. It wasn't that big, and I wasn't sure how he could fit so many things in it. Maybe he was just a really efficient packer.

_Yeah,_ I thought, watching him paw through untidy stacks of wrinkled parchment and piles of weird little knick-knacks. _And I'm the Queen of Sheba._

"Here be something," Deekin said eventually. The wind was ruffling the pages of his book, so he marked his place with one long, spindly finger before looking up. "It say that sometimes Boss's boss manifs…mennif…shows up as a big, glowing hand that points out where to go when somebody gets lost. It why they call him the Helping Hand, see. Very in-teresting. Deekin not know that." He squinted at the sky. "Um. We see any big, glowing hands lately, Boss?"

I rubbed my tired eyes. "Not that I noticed, no."

"Oh. O-kay." The kobold turned back to his books.

_Snikt. Snikt. Snikt._ "Hey, they say he still live in Myth Drannor with lots of his followers. That be kinda weird."

I frowned. "How so?"

"Well, not many gods actually walk around in, y'know, physical form. They be big glowy lights and funny feelings and stuff and likes to live off in the planes somewhere, nice and far away. They not really keen on living on the Prime, smack in the middle of the mortal world. Boss's boss must like to pretend to be human so he can eat pies or something, like old Boss."

Unbidden, I remembered what it had been like to be wrapped up in wind and rain and shadow, to have it stroke my hair and murmur comforting nothings in my ear. "Maybe he just likes to stick close to his people," I said, my voice subdued. "I mean, after the last bunch got eaten by demons and all."

Deekin wrinkled his snout thoughtfully. "Yeah, maybe that be it," he agreed. "Maybe gods get lonely, too." The kobold sounded dubious. Then his eyes brightened. "Hey, maybe you should go visit him there, Boss! Say 'hi'!"

I snorted. "I've said 'hi' to him often enough lately, I think. Thank you."

The kobold shrugged cheerily. "Suit yourself," he said. He went back to his studies.

_Snikt. Snikt. Sni-_ The steady turning of pages stopped. "Hey, uh, Boss?" Deekin asked carefully.

I turned to look at him. A gust of wind blew my hair across my face, and I brushed it away impatiently. "What is it, Deeks?" I asked.

He pointed upwards. "What kind of bird be that?"

I followed his pointing finger and looked up, squinting against the setting sun. "I don't know," I said, after a moment. "A falcon, maybe?"

Xanos glanced up briefly. "Yes," he rumbled confirmation. "A peregrine, from the looks of it. Not an unusual creature in this area, Xanos is given to understand."

I tried not to glare at him. After living for over a year in Abeir-Toril, I'd more or less gotten used to the idea that there were a lot more sentient races here than there were back home. What I hadn't gotten used to was the idea that most of the other sentient races had so many advantages over us mere humans. Dwarves were tougher and craftier, halflings faster and cuter, and elves…they were better at just about everything else except holding their liquor, from the sounds of it. Most of the other races had better eyesight, too, and they could see in the dark to some degree or another, which made me feel touchy and resentful on behalf of my entire race. I just _knew_ that no elven woman would get out of her bed in the middle of night to pee and end up stubbing her toes on the furniture the way I so often did. I wasn't even sure if elven women peed. They were so dainty and gorgeous. They probably emitted clouds of rose-scented vapor instead of urine.

_Bah! Get a grip, girl,_ I chided myself. _This is not a useful train of thought._ "So what's the big deal, Deeks?" I asked out loud. "It's just a bird."

"Er. Not exactly." The wind was picking up, and Deekin had to raise his voice to be heard over it. "See, it says here that sometimes Boss's boss sends animals to help his followers – wolves, sometimes deer, but mostly birds that can fly far, like seagulls, or swallows, or eagles, or, er, well…"

My eyes went wide. "…or falcons," I finished for him, my heart suddenly pounding. Hadn't Shaundakul once said something to me about a falcon? Hadn't he called me one, once upon a time?

The falcon let out a piercing cry. It folded its long, narrow wings, and dived, shooting from sky to earth like a falling star. It disappeared into the canyon, its shriek echoing behind it.

_Is this it?_ I thought. _Is_ he _here?_

A snarl of thunder rolled over the horizon.

I felt an answering leap in my pulse, and, before I knew it, I was standing, leaning most of my weight on Silent Partner and staring up at the sky. My heart drummed a nervous tattoo. _Come on,_ I thought. _Come on, come on. Show me what to do, don't leave me in the dark, you bastard…_

Deekin hurriedly shoved his books into his sack. Then he scurried over and huddled against the side of my booted calf, the way he always seemed to do when he was nervous. "Er," he said. "What now, boss?"

I barely heard him. The power beneath my heart thrummed insistently in response to the thunder. Unthinkingly, I let it unspool and flow out of me, like I was feeding slack to a sinking anchor.

The currents of air were a wild tracery of ever-changing lines to my second sight. They pulsed and twisted and snapped like broken power cables, spitting white-hot light. I thought that I could reach up and touch them, if I wanted, weaving them into new patterns with my spectral fingers.

But I was afraid. There was too much power here, too much chaos. I didn't know how to handle it. I wasn't strong enough. It would consume me.

_Shaundakul,_ I cast the thought out desperately. _You son of a bitch. Get down here and help me!_

The sense of his presence cracked through my head like a lightning strike.

And then he was there, standing right behind me, his hand on my shoulder and the wind howling at his feet like a pack of hungry wolves.

His breath stirred my hair. It smelled like rain. "I have gathered the storm," he told me. "Now, you must pull it in."

I swallowed hard. "You'll help me?" I asked roughly. Suspicion and fear sharpened my voice.

He squeezed my shoulder. "I will," he promised.

Some of the tension drained out of me. "All right," I said, and twitched my clothes straight. "Let's do this." I had just enough presence of mind to raise my voice and say, "Deekin, Xanos. Go find cover." I didn't have enough presence of mind to see that they did as I said. The storm was all I could see now.

The wind whipped at my cloak. I held on to Silent Partner so hard that I lost all feeling in my right hand. My breath came quick and shallow, and my stomach fluttered with nerves.

"Now," Shaundakul told me calmly, and at his command I reached out to the wind and _pulled,_ just like I had before.

The currents of air caught me in their grasp and drew me in, and for a long, terrible moment, I was sure that I would drown in them, get tangled like a kitten with a really deadly ball of yarn. Panicked, I fought blindly against their pull.

Then the hand on my shoulder tightened, and I felt a surge of power howl through me, searing and intoxicating all at once, bolstering my flagging strength. "I am with you, and I will not let you fall," Shaundakul told me. "Call the storm, my fierce little falcon. Bring it to you. It will heed."

White light was blazing behind my eyes. I could feel the storm, its seething tendrils so close to my sight, and yet so far.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I braced myself against the god's anchoring hands and, with his power running through me like a flood, I followed the shape of the winds to the heart of the storm.

Then I wrapped the storm up in cords of thought and currents of air, and dragged its vast, seething eye to me.

Black clouds gathered. Thunder boomed, one large roll after another after another until it played a continuous drumbeat. Lightning split the dark sky in two.

Then I felt a drop of cool water on my cheek. And then another. And then another.

And then, like someone had just opened a hatch, the rain came pouring down.

The silvery torrents hit the dusty soil and almost instantly churned it to mud. The air steamed, banks of fog rising as cool rain met sun-baked earth.

Soon the oasis was grey with rain, mist-shrouded and beautiful.

The rain plastered my hair to my skull. It soaked my clothes to the skin. It poured from my nose and chin in a steady stream. I was drenched to the bone and shivering and so exhausted I was swaying where I stood, and yet I'd never felt more alive.

I began to laugh, and then to whoop and howl and hoot at the sky, breathless with exhilaration.

Shaundakul was no longer behind me, but I could still feel his presence, and I could hear his answering laughter in the howl of the wind.

I knew it was him. I'd recognize that laugh anywhere.

After the storm had abated, the others found me sitting in the mud, a flask full of rainwater in one hand and Silent Partner in the other.

Xanos slipped and slid his way over to me, swearing. "Are you utterly barking mad?" he, well, _barked_ at me. "You could have been struck by lightning! You could have been swept away on a mud slide! You could have died! What were you _thinking,_ woman?"

I smirked up at him and saluted him with my flask. "What's flown up your ass, Xanos?" I asked him innocently. "Haven't you ever seen it rain in the desert before?"

Then I threw my head back and I laughed, and laughed, and laughed.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The lyrics in this chapter could practically be Rebecca's theme song.

_I hitched a ride with a vending machine repair man_  
_He says he's been down this road more than twice_  
_He was high on intellectualism  
_ _I've never been there, but the brochure looks nice_

_Jump in, let's go_  
_Lay back, enjoy the show_  
_Everybody gets high, everybody gets low,  
_ _These are the days when anything goes_

_Every day is a winding road_  
_I get a little bit closer_  
_Every day is a faded sign  
_ _I get a little bit closer to feeling fine_

_\- Sheryl Crow, "Every Day Is a Winding Road"_

* * *

 

The Bedine bid us a polite but nevertheless firm farewell the following morning.

Ali did the honors. Nadiya was nowhere to be seen. I was a little disappointed. I would've liked to say goodbye to her. I liked that girl's attitude.

"It is our hope that you will spread word to the other caravans about what has happened here," Ali told Katriana, bowing gracefully. His robes fluttered around him in an errant breeze. The wind hadn't completely died down since the storm, and it still blew intermittently over the wadi. "The danger is passed, and we are always willing to trade."

Katriana raised an eyebrow. "Really?" she asked. "Because it was our hope you could spare us a guide. We're without one, if you recall – which you likely should, seeing as how it was your little lich problem that killed him."

I saw Torias wince and put his hand over his eyes.

Ali's lips tightened for a moment. I saw him take a deep breath before answering. "I apologize, caravan mistress," he said smoothly. "But we have no one to spare. Our riders are needed to bring our women and children back to the oasis, and what few warriors remain who are whole in body are needed for the rebuilding-"

"So we're to go it alone, is that it?" Katriana demanded.

"Come, now, cousin. Stop haranging the poor man," Torias spoke up, his tone conciliatory. "We have maps, and we even have water now, which is a fair sight better than before-"

She rounded on him. "And are you volunteering to scout ahead for stingers, or quicksand, or fire spouts, or Zhentarim slavers, or asabi raiders, or whatever else might be along our path?" she retorted. "You won't find _those_ on any maps, me boyo!"

Deekin cleared his throat. "Er," he said. "Deekin not mean to interrupt, but…"

Katriana turned to pin him with a glare. "Oh, by Brandobaris's left buttock… _now_ what?"

Deekin blinked at Katriana uncertainly. He huddled a little closer to my leg and pointed to something behind her. "What be that?"

As one, we all turned to look.

There was a falcon perched on a sandstone outcropping. It was watching us with the kind of calm detachment that comes from lots of fresh air, a healthy all-protein diet, and the knowledge that you've got talons like a set of meathooks.

"It's just a _bird,_ " Katriana said in exasperation. "Gods' Eyes, kobold, why are you wasting my time with this nonsense?"

"It not just a bird," Deekin insisted stubbornly. He peered up at me. "It be a falcon. Remember, Boss? Like we saw over the oasis?"

Xanos's hand went to his chin. "Another falcon, hmm? Fascinating. And it seems to want something," he rumbled thoughtfully. He smirked at Deekin. "Perhaps it is looking for a tasty lizard to snack on?"

"Hey!" Deekin scuttled a little further behind me. "That not nice! Deekin not be a snack!"

Xanos snorted. "No, indeed," he drawled, sounding bored. "You are far too stringy. Even the vultures would choke on you." Then he gave me a speculative sidelong glance. "No. This creature's presence may be mere coincidence – but Xanos is not certain that he believes in coincidences when the gods are involved. If Xanos and his stunning intellect were in your position," he advised me, in his oblique way, "He would investigate the matter further."

The falcon looked at him, the feathers around its neck ruffling. Then it turned its fierce black eyes back to me.

My blood went cold. "Don't tell me," I said, not taking my eyes off of the bird. "This is another one of those signs you read about, isn't it, Deeks?"

"Er. Yeah. Probably so, Boss."

The falon didn't seem to be inclined to show me anything enlightening. It was just sitting there, watching me. "Okay," I said slowly. "Just so I'm aware, is there anything _else_ in those books of yours that I need to know at this point in time?"

"Er. Not really, but Boss should probably go say hi or something, if the bird was sent by Boss's boss. It only polite." Deekin looked at the falcon warily. "Um. Deekin will stay here and watch your back," he added. Evidently, that comment about lizards and snacks had made an impression.

"Right. Thanks for the support, Deeks. I appreciate it." I looked at the falcon and took a few cautious steps forward. It looked back at me, turning its head to watch my approach.

Its feathers ranged anywhere from storm grey to snowy white. I'd never been so close to an animal like this before, and I could see all sorts of details that I'd never seen before, from the fine, soft feathers around its liquid black eyes to the delicate and deadly curve of its talons.

" _My fierce little falcon,"_ Shaundakul had called me. Was this his idea of a hint?

Those magnificent black eyes kept watching me until I'd gotten to within a couple feet of the bird. Then the falcon opened its beak and let out a shriek that sounded like a warning, and I stopped.

I studied it. "What do you want?" I muttered. It stared back. "A sign? Shit, aren't _you_ a sign? Since when do signs want signs?" I realized that I wasn't making any sense, and even if I was, it didn't matter, because I was talking to a goddamned _bird_.

"Er. Boss?" I heard a scratchy voice call.

I didn't turn around. "You want something, Deeks?" I asked.

"Why don't you show it your holy symbol?"

I blinked. "You know, that's an awfully good idea," I murmured. Moving slowly, because the last thing I wanted to do was to startle something with a beak that sharp, I reached into my hip pocket and fished out Shaundakul's amulet. I hadn't thrown it away again after the storm. Neither had I given it back to Deekin. I figured I'd just keep it on me, since it was just going to keep turning up and giving me grief regardless.

I leaned on Silent Partner with one hand and extended the other towards the falcon. The heavy silver chain dangled over my knuckles as I held out the symbol for the bird's inspection. I felt more than a little ridiculous. "See this?" I asked the falcon. "Is this what you were looking for?"

It cocked its head and studied the holy symbol's face. Then it bobbed its head, flared its wings, and hopped onto my outstretched arm.

I froze in shock. This was a good thing, because if I hadn't frozen, I'd probably have screamed and dropped the bird, and I couldn't see how _that_ would have ended well.

Behind me, I heard Torias start to laugh. "Hey, Legs!" he called mockingly. "I think it likes you!"

The falcon looked at me. It fanned its tailfeathers.

Then it shat all over my boots.

I looked down at the speckled white-and-black splotch on my nice, clean suede. "Okay," I said loudly. "I _know_ that had to be Shaundakul's idea."

"Why you say that, Boss?" Deekin asked curiously.

"Because it's got that bastard's sense of humor written all over it, that's why." I glared at the bird. "Well?" I asked. "Are you going to actually do anything useful, or are you just going to stand there and ruin my shoes?"

The falcon's feathery ruff stood up. Then it spread its wings and leapt into the air.

I flinched reflexively, but the bird didn't seem interested in a fight. It landed a little ways away, alighting with breathtaking grace on the branches of a stunted tree, and looked back almost expectantly, as if waiting for me to do something.

"Now there's a sight you don't see every day," Furtan marveled.

I turned around. The others, even Ali, were all staring at me as if I'd sprouted a second head.

Katriana in particular was giving me a penetrating, narrow-eyed stare. "Is that bird doing what I think it's doing?" she asked.

"Uh. That depends." I looked over my shoulder at the falcon. It was still waiting. "If you're thinking that it wants us to follow it…I don't know." I shrugged. "I guess so?" I offered uncertainly.

She stared at me for a couple of moments longer. Then she gave a crisp nod, as if she'd just reached a decision. "Well, I suppose it's better than nothing," she muttered. She turned. "All right, you louts!" she called. "Looks like we've got a guide after all! Mount up! Nolan, get those damned oxen in line! Birgan! Damn it, where's Birgan run off to now? I hope he hasn't happened to anybody. That's going to cost us. Boy, you're on security detail, so I'd better see your bright, shining face up here on the double!"

She strode away, still shouting instructions. I watched her go, open-mouthed.

Chaos went on in front of me as I stood there, flabbergasted. Halflings rushed back and forth. Nolan argued with the oxen. "Liver and onions!" he shouted in the lead ox's ear. It shifted aimlessly sideways and tried to step on his feet. "Whoa! Liver and onions, boy, mark my words!"

Eventually, one of the halflings detached from the crowd and sidled up to me. It was Furtan. He was looking at me as if he'd never seen me before. "Would you like to take my place on the head wagon, m'lady?" he asked diffidently. "I mean, seeing as how you're our new guide and all."

Had the Bedine put something in the water? Opiates, maybe? I'd heard that some types of cactus had hallucinogenic properties. Only a drastically altered state of consciousness could explain why anyone would decide to put _me_ in charge of anything. "I'm not-" I began.

I heard a merry chuckle. Torias stepped out of the shadow of the nearest wagon. "Oh, yes you are, Legs," he said. "Cousin Blackheart has spoken." He peered after the falcon, who was still waiting patiently on its branch, occasionally preening its feathers. "As have the gods, apparently." He turned a cheeky, slightly salacious grin on me. "Tell me, my pretty wayfinder…is there anything I can do to ease your burden?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Anything at all?"

I stared down at him. I was wearing my best icy, forbidding expression, but it didn't seem to faze him one bit. "Make sure that Katriana hasn't moved my bunk from her wagon," I said at last. "And then make sure nobody disturbs me for the foreseeable future. Yes, Torias…this includes you."

Torias pouted a little and then trotted off, presumably to see to my request. At least, I hoped that was what he was doing. With Torias, you never really knew. "What do you plan to do in the wagon, m'lady?" Furtan asked hopefully. "Some sort of divination?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "No," I said evenly. "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up whenever we get to where we're going."

"But, m'lady…" He scratched his head, confused. "We're at least a fortnight away from the Aoist camp!"

I drew in a deep, blissful breath and smiled. "Yeah," I said. "That sounds about right."

Then Katriana called for Furtan, and with an apologetic smile and deferential tug of his forelock, he scurried off, leaving me alone.

I looked around, taking in the sparkle of the water in the oasis and lush scent of new growth in the air. The acacia trees were a riot of green leaves and little puffball clusters of white flowers, and stands of desert jasmine nodded at the water's edge, filling the air with their sweetness. Sagebrush and verbena, poppy and primrose...I had taken what the plants could spare, trimming where I hoped it would help rather than hinder, and left the rest alone, hopefully to flourish. It was about damn time this place saw a little greenery.

The morning sun was pleasantly warm, and the scent of death was fading, washed away by the rain. _I doubt I'll be back here anytime soon,_ I thought, and felt an unexpected little twinge of sadness. It wasn't a bad place, after all, even if the people could use a little hospitality training.

I had just turned to go when I caught a glimpse of a small, black-robed figure, standing at the top of the rise just beyond the oasis. It had long, dark hair and held a scimitar in its right hand, and, when I looked its way, it raised the weapon high over its head. An arc of sunlight gleamed along the blade's curving edge.

_Nadiya,_ I thought, grinning suddenly, and I lifted Silent Partner in response to her salute, the zalantar as quiet and dark as a shadow in the sun.

The girl held the salute a moment longer. Then she spun her scimitar back into its scabbard, turned, and vanished into the wadi.

I watched her go. _Another goodbye, and then I'm back on the road,_ I thought. _Story of my life these days._ The thought was bittersweet.

Then, humming a tune I'd heard in a tavern somewhere in Silverymoon – or had it been Yartar? – I strolled back to the wagons in search of a nice, long nap.


	37. Chapter 37

I ran through a long, dark hallway, lined with a thousand identical doors.

A dead man in a black robe stumbled along behind me, cradling his own viscera in his arms. "Mercy, healer," he begged. "Why won't you help me?"

 _I tried to help you,_ I wanted to protest. _I tried. It wasn't enough. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._ But my words rang hollow in the dead man's ears, and I ran on, trying to get away from his damnable wailing.

There were voices behind the doors, some hissing, some screaming, some crying. The doors opened as I passed. Hands reached out for me, tugging at my clothes. I had to run faster, but the hall was so long, and it only got longer the farther I ran.

I broke into a panicked sprint. I saw the last door, which was open. There was a light behind it. I reached out…

Someone reached around me and slammed the door shut.

I turned. Dad smiled at me. "Hello, little peach," he said softly. His face was pale and puffy, the way it had been the last time I'd seen him alive. "Remember me?" he asked. His features began to run together, like melted wax. "The house isn't the same without you, you know. When are you coming back?"

 _I do, I do remember, I'm sorry, daddy, I miss you, I do, I'll come home, I promise,_ I cried, reaching for him, but his eyes were vacant, like a zombie's, and then he lunged forward, all teeth and rot and terrible, shining eyes.

The door opened behind me, and I fell through it, clutching a broken tumbler and a handful of dead grass.

Dirt pattered onto a coffin. I opened my eyes and saw a plush satin lining, which was white and cold and closing in all around me. I began to scream.

Someone was pounding on the wood.

_Thud thud thud._

At first, I thought it was me. Then I realized that it was coming from outside.

_Thud thud thud._

I tried to claw my way out, my heart racing. _Get me out of here!_ I tried to scream. _Somebody, help me!_

The pounding grew louder.

_Thud thud thud._

Then the pounding stopped. "M'lady?" I heard a voice call. "Are you in there?"

At that point, two things happened in rapid succession.

First my blankets smacked into the far wall, thrown from my body in the first surge of waking adrenaline.

Then my forehead smacked into one of the rafters.

Stars went supernova in front of my eyes. I let out a strangled scream. My hands flew to my head. "God damn it!" I shouted. "What kind of an idiot puts a ceiling that close to the bed?!"

Nolan poked his head over the threshold, cautiously. "A halfling one?" he suggested innocently.

I glared at him balefully through my fingers. "Is there any particular reason you're trying to crack my skull?" I asked darkly.

"Oh, no, m'lady, I would never do that," the halfling protested cheerfully. "Besides, you were doing it just fine by yourself. Why should I interfere?"

My voice became a menacing growl. " _Nolan_."

He blinked at me and smiled a dimpled, completely unrepentant smile. "Sorry, m'lady," he said easily. "I'll just be going, then." His head vanished beyond the open doorway. Then, after another couple of seconds, it reappeared. "Oh, right," he added. "I almost forgot. Katriana wants to see you."

I felt my forehead gingerly. It felt hot and painful where the rafter had hit it. I was pretty sure I hadn't cracked anything, but I was probably going to be sporting a nice bruise for the next several days – not to mention nursing the mother of all headaches. I winced. "What does she want?" I asked faintly.

"Dunno." Nolan shrugged. "She stopped the caravan and started shouting for you. Buggered if I know what she's about." He grinned. "I'm just the messenger."

I looked around. He was right. The wagon wasn't moving. My head had been so busy spinning that I hadn't even noticed.

I sighed. "Fine," I said. "Tell Katriana I'll be right out."

Once I'd gotten cleaned up a little and dressed, I picked up my pack (with a fortune in jewelry still stashed in there, I never liked leaving it unguarded and at the mercy of a bunch of too-curious and too-acquisitive halflings) and I stepped out of the wagon – carefully.

Bunking in wagons that had been built for halflings was starting to give me what felt like a permanent stoop. Every time I hit my head on a rafter or an overhanging lamp, or came close to doing so, I swore that I'd switch to sleeping outside, the way Xanos had done after the half-orc had spent too many nights spent folded up like an accordion in a halfling-sized bunk.

Then I remembered the scorpions, and the snakes, and that one time I'd gone out camping with some friends somewhere in Namibia only to roll over during the night and fling my arm on top of a cactus (and boy, had _that_ been a wake-up call to remember), and I resigned myself to a slight stoop and the occasional head trauma.

There was a babble of voices near the head of the wagon train, with one voice in particular rising stridently above the rest. My pack still dangling from my fingers, I followed Katriana's shouts to their source. "Move back, everybody!" she bellowed. "Come on, give him some air!"

I rounded the lead wagon and saw a growing cluster of halflings. They were all looking at something on the ground, but they were gathered so tightly that I couldn't see what it was.

Because Katriana seemed otherwise engaged, I stepped up beside Torias and poked him in the shoulder. "What's going on? We can't be there already," I asked curiously. I sniffed at the air. A familiar, excremental smell crept into my nostrils. I wrinkled my nose. "And what the hell just died?"

Torias grinned at me and tugged the brim of an imaginary hat. "Wotcha, Legs," he said easily. "Seems there was a dead camel in the way-"

"So?" I interrupted impatiently. "Go around it."

" _And_ a dead man," Furtan spoke up from somewhere in the press of curly-haired spectators.

"No…no," another halfling said meditatively. I heard a faint groan. "Seems he's not quite dead yet."

I blinked. "What?" I asked stupidly. "What man?"

Katriana's head popped up from the middle of the crowd. She shoved her arms out to the side, forcing the onlookers back. "I thought I told you people to give him some air!" she shouted indignantly. Her head swiveled. Her eyes fell on me. "There you are!" she added. She jerked her head at me. "Get over here, Rebecca! I need you! You louts, clear out and let her through or I'll dock your pay for a month! I mean it! On the count of five! One, two, three-" She watched in satisfaction as the halflings scrambled away. "Bunch of lollygaggers," she sniffed. "Don't know why I keep them on."

I paid her only half a mind. As the wall of bodies cleared, I saw two crumpled figures lying on the sand.

One was a camel. It was limp, glassy-eyed, and didn't seem to be breathing. The animal had obviously shuffled off this mortal coil, though its death can't have been that long ago. My sojourn in the Bedine oasis had given me a hard education in the many guises of death. There were no flies, and the animal hadn't gone into rigor yet.

The other figure was that of a man. He was a human, on the shady side of middle-aged, with an extravagant mustache and head of white-tipped grey hair that stuck straight out from his skull, which gave him something of the look of a mad scientist. His face was pallid and sweat-sheened, and the skin under his eyes was pouchy, maybe from too many sleepless nights.

As I looked at him, the man convulsed in pain, seemingly trying to curl around his stomach, where his shirt was soaked in blood. It was a weak motion, aborted almost before it had begun. He groaned.

A few seconds later, I was on my knees beside him without really knowing how I'd gotten there. I looked at him and let my eyes unfocus. It was like looking at an image of a vase and having it suddenly resolve into an image of two faces. Bone and blood and flesh became prominent, while the rest of the world faded into the background.

There was so much blood, so much damage. Someone had punched a hole through the man's stomach and out the other side. The bones in his left forearm were crushed, the muscles stretched and warped like pulled taffy. There were deep lacerations, swelling blooms of red beneath the bruises on his torso, and so much blood flowing to his many wounds and pulsing straight out of him that I didn't know how it was that he was still alive.

I didn't know how to repair the damage. I didn't even know where to start. I felt like a novice mechanic who'd just been handed a heap of scrap metal and told to assemble a working car out of it.

I grabbed Katriana's sleeve. "Healing potions," I said hoarsely. "Now."

She looked at me. "We can't afford to spare-" she began.

Anger hit me like a sledge. "Can't _afford?_ " I snarled. I thrust my hand into the very bottom of my rucksack and yanked out a tangle of white and yellow and rose gold. A necklace, more than likely. I vaguely remembered seeing it in mom's jewelry box. I shoved it at Katriana. "There. Now you can. _Now give me those potions_."

The halfling woman stared at the necklace. "How many of these do you have in there?" she whispered.

"None of your god-damned business." More blood was seeping from the man's wounds, soaking into the sand. I could see it. I could _see_ it. With that damned second sight that Shaundakul had foisted on me, I could _see_ the life leaving the man, one heartbeat at a time. "Jesus tittyfucking Christ on a pogo stick… _potions,_ Katriana!" I shouted at her.

She jumped as if scalded. Then she nodded jerkily, hoisted her skirts, and ran back to the wagons.

I looked back at the man. His head still seemed to be in one piece. At least that was something. I leaned over him. "Hey. Can you hear me?" I asked. His head jerked slightly. His eyelids fluttered. "I'll take that as a yes. Listen, we're going to try to heal you. Just hang on, okay?" He swallowed and, to my surprise, gave a feeble nod. I laid my hand on his right shoulder, the only part of him that was a) completely uninjured and b) not stuck under a dead camel.

I turned my attention to the camel. It was pinning the man's legs. From the looks of it, he'd been riding the thing when it had finally given up the ghost.

I heard a flutter of wings. A vulture dropped to the ground like an avian anchor and made a noise that sounded almost inquiring.

I stared back. "Fuck off," I said between clenched teeth. The vulture sidled sideways, its feathers ruffling at the sound of my voice. "Get away from him, you little shithead. This is not a god-damned all-you-can-eat buffet." The vulture stayed where it was. Without taking my eyes away from it, I reached down and pried a rock up from the sandy soil. "You going to listen, or am I going to have to make you listen?" The thing backed off a step, but I didn't like the way it was eyeing the injured man, with that air of stolid, hungry patience.

Then my head turned at a familiar shriek and a swoop of pinioned wings.

I never ceased to be amazed that the falcon was still with us. Sometimes I'd lost sight of it, and I' started to worry, thinking that our - my - strange guide had abandoned me to get lost in the desert. But then I'd turn around, and there it would be, watching me with its fierce dark eyes, always watching.

Now the falcon landed in front of the vulture, flaring its wings and near-hissing with ire. It was much smaller than the other bird, but it was all ruffled feathers and sharp talons and crazed, vicious determination, and the way it dug its scythelike talons into the ground said that it was ready to raise hell if the larger bird didn't clear out, and soon.

The vulture gave the falcon a sidelong glance. And then, with a casual air that said it wasn't really all that hungry anyway, it unfurled its heavy wings and took off.

I looked at the falcon, which had folded its wings and settled down as soon as the vulture was airborne. "Thanks," I told it. It blinked at me, once and briefly. Then its head snapped around, as if it had seen a particularly tasty mouse, and it leapt into the air with no further adieu.

I watched it go. Then I lowered my eyes and scanned the assembled halflings. They'd backed off a few paces, but most of them were still watching. I half expected them to pull out lawn chairs and bags of popcorn and sit down to enjoy the show. "Birgan," I called, settling on the biggest and strongest of them. "And you, too, Birgan. We need to move this camel-"

"Do not waste your time on the pipsqueaks," a new voice muttered. Xanos popped into visibility less than a yard away, scowling down at the injured man as if he'd insulted Xanos personally. "Xanos will do it."

I watched him lean down and grab the camel by its spindly ankles. Birgan and Birgan, still operating under previous orders, came forward to help him heave the thing off the injured stranger. "Where the hell'd you come from, Xanos?" I asked shrilly. My heart seemed to have gotten permanently lodged in my throat. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

Deekin proceeed to give me a second heart attack by materializing from the thin air at Xanos's heels. Did those two _have_ to do this kind of thing without giving me any kind of warning? Really? "Mean green man thought maybe there'd be trouble, so he go invisible," the kobold announced happily. "He not be brave, like Boss."

I stared at him incredulously. "Brave?" I snorted. "Deeks, trust me when I say that if I could turn myself invisible at will, I would."

"Oh." He looked a little disappointed. "Well, that be okay. Deekin not very brave, either. He know how it is." He crouched down easily and peered at the injured man. He fingered the man's clothes, which were utilitarian and outfitted with all sorts of buckles and pouches. "Who be this?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know, Deeks," I answered, craning to back look over my shoulder. Katriana was hurrying back, a stained, clinking leather trunk clutched to her chest. "I hope he'll be able to tell us."

"This is what we've got," Katriana announced when she reached us, setting the trunk on the sand. She undid the latches and threw back the lid. Rows of neatly corked potions nestled against the trunk's velvet lining. "Do you think it'll be enough?"

"Hell if I know," I said. I looked at the potions and chose one, its contents swirling a telltale milky blue. I yanked the cork out and began dribbling it carefully between the injured man's lips. Some of it ran right out again, trickling down his cheeks. I cursed and rubbed his throat, trying to get him to swallow. "Come on, come on," I murmured at the man. He spluttered and started to choke. "Damn it, work with me here, man, don't do this-"

Xanos made an exasperated noise. "Fools," he snapped, and held his hand out imperiously. "Potion. Now. Xanos will take care of this."

I stared at him. "Why?" I asked, confused. "What-"

Katriana snatched another healing potion out of the trunk and gave it to Xanos. She looked at me, raising one eyebrow. "There's a little something I've learned over the years," she told me. "When someone tells you that they know what they're doing, don't pester them with questions. Just let them do it."

Xanos grunted. "Wise words from the half-pint," he muttered. The cork popped out of the bottle and, before I could gather my wits, he leaned over the injured man and started dribbling the potion directly into his wounds. "Xanos once came across a diary that had belonged to a priest of Loviatar," the sorcerer said. His forehead was furrowed with concentration, but his tone was almost conversational. "Fascinating reading, despite having been written by a religious fanatic." He made a disgusted face. "Xanos will never understand why priests all have terrible penmanship. It took him days to decipher the fool's ramblings." He held his hand out again. "Potion," he commanded. Bemused, I obediently picked one out and handed it over. Xanos continued with his work. "Followers of the Maiden of Pain often prefer to keep their subjects alive for extended periods, in order to maximize their torment," he went on. "Potions of healing are useful in that regard. However, it is often difficult, if not impossible, to force a subject to ingest something that they know will prolong their suffering."

I kept my eyes on the injured man. The bleeding had slowed, and his wounds, both internal and external, were beginning to re-knit themselves. "Charming," I said, without looking up. "So what do they do, force their victims to bathe in healing potions?"

"Essentially." Xanos tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder negligently. I was glad there were no park rangers in the Anauroch, or else a certain half-orc was bound to be fined for littering. "It is, however, somewhat less efficacious than ingestion of the healing principle. Nevertheless…" He held out his hand for a third time. "Potion."

I lifted a hand, gesturing at him to wait. My eyes were fixed on the injured man. His blood was back to circulating through his veins and arteries rather than leaking out all over the sand, and some of his color had come back, but his face was contorted strangely, and his breathing was erratic.

Xanos looked at me. His eyes narrowed. "Do you see something?" he asked. He put a heavy emphasis on _see._

I shook my head absent-mindedly. "Not...exactly, but there's something strange-" I began.

That was when the man sat up, screaming.

It happened so quickly. One minute the man was unconscious, and the next, he was sitting up, hunched over his stomach with his hands clasped desperately over the bloody hole in his shirt and a scream erupting out of him like it had been torn from his chest.

"Demons," he gasped, as if it was a curse. His eyes were wide and white, staring at something only he could see. "They came…in the dark…oh, sweet Mystra, w-we must run, get out, warn the camp, she is coming…" The man struggled, weakly, to rise.

Xanos immobilized the man by the simple expedient of grabbing a fistful of his shirt and holding him in place. " _Who_ is coming?" he demanded.

The man's eyes went to Xanos's face. He quailed, which was understandable. If I thought I was being chased by demons, Xanos was the last person I'd want to see. Contrary to what I'd always heard about half-orcs, he wasn't ugly. His face was odd-looking and almost animalistic at certain angles, but not exactly ugly. However, he got a little scary when he got angry, and he was angry right then. The look on his face was obviously scaring the shit out of the smaller man.

I laid a restraining hand on Xanos's forearm and gave him a pleading look. After a moment, he nodded and let go - grudgingly.

"They t-tore poor Jessep in half," the injured man sobbed, sinking back to the ground. "Right in half, and they laughed…such voices…hideous, hideous…"

I settled myself by the man's side and took his hand in both of mine. "Relax," I said soothingly. His terrified expression sank into the pit of my stomach and stayed there, heavy as lead. "Whatever you saw, it's not here. You're safe. Calm down. You're safe." I repeated the mantra over and over again, trying, with my words, to penetrate the fog of fear that had covered the man. "You're safe."

Slowly, the man's shivering subsided. He glanced at his surroundings, blinked twice, and took a long, shuddering breath. "W-where am I?" he asked faintly.

"Somewhere safe," I repeated. I glanced at Katriana. "This is a merchant caravan. We were heading for the Aoist encampment a few miles away when-"

The man tensed. "The Aoists?" he interrupted. His eyes widened in dismay. "Oh, gods," he gasped. He straightened, clutching at my hand. "You must help me," he begged. "I must warn them. They are in very grave danger. We all are, I fear."

Xanos lost his patience. "In danger?" he barked. "From what?" He looked down his broad, flat nose at the stranger, wearing an expression of deep suspicion. "And who are you, to be roaming the desert alone like this?" he added.

A grim, sad smile flitted across the man's face. "The last surviving member of a twelve-man expedition," he said. He sighed and lifted his head, a sort of weary self-possession settling over his pale countenance. "My name is Garrick Halassar," he said simply. "I am an archaeologist, and I am afraid that I have uncovered something best left to the ages-"

I had stopped listening, and so, from the looks of it, had Xanos. We exchanged disbelieving looks. Then we stared at the man. "Did you say _Garrick Halassar?_ " the sorcerer and I said in unison.

The man looked back and forth between us, frowning. "I am sorry," Garrick Halassar said, with an air of polite bewilderment. "Do I know you?"


	38. Chapter 38

_There's a vision in the sands_   
_Rising from the ancient past_   
_Crying let my spirit go_   
_Lead my burning soul to rest_

_Hear the sound of distant ages_   
_It's the call of the seventh star_

_\- Black Sabbath, "Seventh Star"_

* * *

 

There was a stair carved in the face of the cliff. It zigged and zagged from sky to sand, a slumped and crumbling ruin.

I wondered who had made it, and how long they'd been dead.

" _They came at dawn,"_ Garrick had told us. _"We were out in the desert, digging in the ruins of an ancient civilization…Netheril. Do you know of it? Magnificent place…so it must have been so, once, when the flying cities still filled the skies..."_

I paused on the highest step. There was a narrow valley below, bounded by steep cliffs. The wind howled. It stung at my eyes and tugged insistently at my hair.

I saw a winged shadow flicker over the stone. My falcon guide dove down into the valley, shrieking, high and fierce. The sound stirred something in me, urging me, irresistibly, to follow it.

" _Who are you?"_ I'd asked Shaundakul when we'd first met, a lifetime ago.

" _Follow, and find out,"_ he'd answered. That kind of cryptic non-answer had been like a red flag to a bull as far as I was concerned, and the bastard had known it, somehow he'd just _known_ that I'd take the bait.

Now, the situation was about as bad. Maybe I still had a choice. Maybe I could just leave this desert behind. But Garrick's words kept ringing in my ears.

" _You must not let her enter that portal. Wherever it leads, whatever she intends…for the sake of us all, you must not let her succeed,"_ Garrick had said, and the word _portal_ stuck in my head, playing over and over like a song I'd heard on the radio one too many times.

Where there was one portal, there might be more. If not for that, I might just bury this thing I carried and run, let this dog-and-pony show go on without me…but a _portal…_

I descended, one hand against the sandstone wall to steady me. Xanos followed, his yellow eyes glaring all around as if the geography had offended him. After him came Deekin, hopping down one stair at a time, like a bird.

" _Drogan said that I would be able to identify this artifact of yours? My goodness, such faith my old friend has in me…well, let me see it. Hmm. Fascinating. Yes…yes. I know this crystal you carry. I have read of such things in the ancient texts. It is called a mythallar."_

Drifts of sand had covered the last part of the stair, getting deeper with each step. Gingerly, I tried to feel my way down with Silent Partner, but my feet weren't having any of it. They slipped in the loose sand, and I ended up taking the last few stairs with my ass.

When my slide had stopped, I sat with my head in my hands, feeling sorry for myself. My ankle hurt. "Great," I muttered. "This is just what I needed."

Then I yelped as Xanos came to an abrupt stop beside me and yanked me unceremiously to my feet. "Cyric's Blood, woman, be _careful,_ " he growled at me. "One mis-step while you carry that mythallar and you will destroy us all!"

" _I read once of a mage who walked into his enemy's home, unannounced, and threw a mythallar to the floor, where it broke – eliminating not only his enemy, but also, apparently, most of the city around him. There is great power in this object…be careful."_

I yanked my arm away from him just as unceremoniously and shot the half-orc a glare that verged on a snarl. I tried not to think of how hard I'd hit the ground, or how fragile that little crystal might be. If I fell again, in just the wrong way, would the last thing I heard be a tinkle of glass? Would it hurt, or would it be like getting caught in an atomic blast – just a painless flash of light, and then _poof_ , nothing left of me but a shadow? "Are _you_ volunteering to take the fucking thing?" I snapped shrilly.

He froze. An odd look entered his eyes. "Perhaps…" he began, and then gave a sharp shake of his head, stepping back as if stung. He spoke in a low mutter, as if arguing with himself. "It is tempting….no. No! It is too tempting. I…I should not. She must keep it. Yes," he added, his eyes refocusing on me suddenly. "You will keep it. Xanos insists."

I looked up at him, my anger suddenly forgotten. "You all right?" I asked gruffly.

He hitched his shoulders and gave me a wild, wary look. "Just keep that thing away from me," he repeated harshly, and stalked away over the sand.

" _Here. You may have it back. No…no. You cannot take it away, I am afraid. It will do you no good. She already knows it is here, I heard her say as much. She will be looking for it, and she will find you. I…I am sorry."_

We'd seen the shape of the dig site from above, a little grid of geometric lines and half-uncovered walls nestled amidst the sinuous sweep of sand.

The falcon swooped ahead, heading straight for it.

The camp was quiet except for the buzzing of flies. There was a figure slumped against one of the walls. Humanoid, though it was missing some pieces. I saw a smear of blood running down the wall above its head.

" _They came at dawn. She walked among the dead. So many. So many..."_

The falcon alighted on a ruined wall. It folded its wings and looked at me as I passed, its dark eyes watchful.

_"She was cloaked. I did not see her face. Her servants called her Heurodis…"_

There was a wooden stair leading down into an excavated antechamber. There was still a lantern at the bottom, a tiny ball of magelight glowing steadily behind the glass.

We climbed down. I jingled. The stairs creaked under Xanos's weight. Deekin's claws scratched against the wood. None of us spoke. The less noise we made, the better.

" _They came from above. Demons, perhaps. The stuff of nightmares. Their voices, the language they spoke, it was madness, and when they killed the others, they laughed…"_

Deekin crept along behind me, huddled so close that he nearly tangled himself in my legs and tripped me up. I laid a hand on his scaled head, trying to reassure him.

He blinked up at me. "This place not feel so good," he said softly, in his nasal voice.

"Yeah." I looked around. "It's bad juju." I leaned Silent Partner against my shoulder and ran my now-free hand along the crumbling brick and plaster. The plaster was painted in elaborate geometric patterns, and the colors were still as bright as jewels, as if a couple thousand years ago was only yesterday. Ahead of us lay a long hall, deep shadows draping it like cobwebs. "Seriously bad juju."

His head swiveled nervously. "What be bad juju, boss?" he whispered.

I thought of how to put it into words. "You know that feeling like something just walked over your grave, and it turns out that it's your own zombified corpse?" I said at last. " _That's_ bad juju."

"Oh." He swallowed. "Yeah. Deekin thinks he understands."

" _I am getting ahead of myself. Forgive me. About a month ago, my researchers uncovered a portal room in the ruins, far below the entrance. At first, I was not certain where the portal might lead…"_

I looked down at Deekin. "You don't have to be here, Deeks," I said softly. I stroked his scaled head and forced back the lump in my throat at the thought of the little guy's dreams for big adventure being snuffed out in this ruin. He was so bright, with such a promising future ahead of him, and…

…and I couldn't believe my own thoughts. I was getting all maternal over a _lizard._ This world had seriously warped my brain. Still… "I'll understand if you go."

He shook his head furiously, huddling closer to my leg. "Deekin wanted adventure," he said. "How he ever gonna write his epic tale if he busy running away all the time?" His hand found its way into mine. "No, Boss. Deekin be staying."

I closed my eyes, took a breath, and nodded. It didn't make me happy that he was along. Not exactly. If, somehow or another, this Netherese portal could get me home or get me to another portal that did, I'd have to give both him and Xanos the slip. It was easier that way, and I couldn't let them in on my little secret – especially Deekin, who'd already shown a knack for turning up in unexpected places.

I cringed to think of the kobold at large in my hometown. If he wasn't just ground into hot dog filling and sold off in pieces by a street vendor, he was going to give the folks at animal control fits. Maybe he'd end up in a lab somewhere, hooked up to electrodes and splayed out on an operating table so that modern science could find out what made the little guy tick. _God._ Now that was a mental image that I was pretty sure would figure very prominently in my nightmares from now on.

No, it was better if I vanished without a trace, when the time came. It was better for everyone that way.

"… _then, with her arrival, I understood. If my guess is correct, there is such a city on the other side of this portal, one which has lain undisturbed for all this time. To find an entire Netherese city, intact!...oh, what a find…and what a catastrophe, that it should fall into the hands of one such as she. Heurodis…"_

The darkness deepened in patches. Only a few of the archaeologists' lanterns were intact, and the stretches of corridor between them were so dark that I couldn't see where I was going.

When that happened, Deekin took my hand and guided me through the dark, a squat little tugboat pulling a racing yacht behind it. I held on to him and followed, the weight of the dark pressing down on me. It felt heavy, like wet snow. I was having trouble breathing.

There were voices in the dark, guttural mutterings that made my hair stand on end. The language was strange _(madness,_ I thought, _Garrick said it was madness),_ the kind of noise I might have imagined coming from my closet when I was a child.

 _Boo! It's the boogeyman,_ I thought, and choked back a giggle that wanted very badly to turn into a whimper.

The footing got more and more uneven. Eventually, either a hundred feet or a hundred miles later, I stumbled, my toes catching on a loose heap of rubble.

Stones rattled away, skittering. They were loud, much too loud, and I tensed up, freezing in place.

I heard a slow, heavy footstep. " _Ygoth quarl!_ " something growled. " _Tsathogg?"_

I started to tremble.

There was just enough light to make out Xanos's silhouette. I saw it sink back against the wall, right next to me. The sorcerer's fingers snagged my sleeve so tightly that I was pretty sure he was cutting off my circulation. "Quiet," he hissed in my ear. "Quiet."

" _My team is dead. I nearly joined them,"_ Garrick's voice rattled on in my memory. _"One of the monsters grabbed me, tried to tear me in half, like they did to poor Jessep. They did it so easily, as if he was made of paper…I, I am sorry. Please, may I have a drink before I go on?"_

We waited for a thousand years, or maybe it was only a few minutes.

The boogeyman gurgled noisily, as if it had a throat full of phlegm. " _Shibbeth,_ " it muttered. Its plodding steps grew fainter.

Eventually, the ruins were quiet again.

I sagged against the wall in relief, my eyes squinched shut and my heart pounding. _Oh god,_ I thought. _Oh god. Why am I here? I want to go home._ Hilltop or Earth, it didn't really matter, as long as it was safer and less nerve-wracking than this.

Xanos didn't relinquish his grip on my sleeve. "Slaadi, by the language," he said softly, leaning close to my ear so that he didn't have to raise his voice. "Creatures of the Outer Planes. Dangerous, and unpredictable. We should avoid them if at all possible." His yellow eyes shifted away from me. "Kobold," he said. "You are the quietest among us. Scout ahead. Find us a clear path to the portal room. Then report back."

Deekin was quiet. "Boss?" he asked warily.

I gulped. "Go ahead, Deeks," I croaked. "But don't…don't go far." I thought of those heavy, dragging footsteps. "And, for god's sake, if anything sees you, _run,_ do you hear me?"

"O-kay." I heard the kobold hum a quavering note. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw him fade from view, as if he'd just been dipped in invisible ink. "Will do, Boss."

I didn't hear Deekin leave, but after a few moments, Xanos let go of my sleeve. "Step back, away from the light," he told me. I didn't argue.

Time crawled by. I huddled against the wall and listened, with growing irritation, to Xanos's slow, even breathing. _He_ wasn't whimpering or struggling for air in this damned stifling darkness. _He_ wasn't afraid. _He_ belonged in this world of monsters and black magic and balls-to-the-wall insanity. I was just a rich girl and a would-be press monkey from a world where shit like this didn't happen – though entirely different kinds of shit did, which I supposed had to count for something.

I ground my teeth. _You're in front of a room full of reporters,_ I told myself firmly. _The tabloids are there, even. It's hit the news circuit that the paramedics found your boss hanging dead in a closet in his wife's underwear with a belt around his neck and a bad case of postmortem priapism and the cameras are on in five…_

My breathing slowed.

_Four._

I felt my face relax into a careful mask.

_Three._

My smile was lovely, genial, and as blank as a wall.

_Two._

I straightened, taking a deep, steadying breath.

_One._

I reached down and gently pried Xanos's fingers from my sleeve. "I'm okay," I murmured. "Let go of me."

" _Heurodis must be stopped. I do not know how…defeat her, destroy the portal, destroy the mythallar if you must, though I hope it will never come to that, but you_ must _stop her. She must be made to answer for her crimes."_

"Boss?" Deekin's voice asked suddenly, breaking into my thoughts.

I started slightly, and then squinted, trying to find the little kobold. I failed. "Where are you, Deeks?" I whispered.

Xanos twitched slightly. "Tell Xanos that you have found the portal room, kobold," he hissed. "He cannot take much more of this."

I rolled my eyes towards him, wrathfully. _Can't take much more of what?_ I wondered darkly. _Babysitting me?_ He couldn't have been talking about the ruins and the dark and the voices that were the stuff of nightmares. His voice was steady. _Too steady,_ I thought suddenly. _Like he's forcing it._ I looked at him again, my eyes narrowing.

"Sortakinda," Deekin whispered back. "But…uh. There be a problem."

The problem in question was big, red, and hunched over something that lay right in front of a pair of bronze doors.

A slaad, I decided, looked like a cross between a demon, a frog, and a Sherman tank. If it weren't for the long talons on its hands and feet and the spiny horns that sprouted all over its hide, it might have looked ridiculous. Mostly, though, it just looked like something I didn't want to meet up close.

We peered around the corner at it. It had its back to us. Whatever it was eating was occupying most of its attention.

Then Xanos pulled us back into the corridor and announced that he had an idea.

Five minutes later, Deekin touched my knee with a clawed finger and hummed a scratchy note. I watched myself vanish and felt a wave of gooseflesh rise on my skin. I wondered if the spell would get stuck, somehow, and I'd live out my life as the invisible woman. Or maybe I'd just vanish altogether, right out of existence.

It wasn't that I didn't trust Deekin. He'd never _intentionally_ hurt me. I just didn't trust magic.

That is, I didn't trust _most_ magic. I wiped my clammy palms against my thighs. Then I hefted Silent Partner in both hands, re-acquainting myself with its exquisite balance. The wood tingled reassuringly against my skin.

" _You are uncertain…I know. I wish I could be of more help. Though perhaps…yes. Perhaps there is a solution."_

I heard the mechanical _clunk-thwip_ of Deekin's crossbow and heard the ensuing meaty _thunk_ a second before I saw a feathered bolt shaft sticking out from between the slaad's shoulder blades.

Getting shot in the back was usually enough to ruin most people's days That was why it was so surprising when, rather than collapsing, the creature gave an enraged gurgle and _reached_ behind it, its huge arm twisting as if it was made of rubber. Muscle and bone seemed to reconfigure itself, real-time, to allow the clumsy-looking thing to perform a feat of contortion usually only reserved for circus performers.

The slaad yanked the bolt out of its back and staggered to its feet. It shook its arm, which reformed into its previous shape. " _Ygorth quarl!"_ it roared, and threw the bolt to the floor, splattering blackish blood. Then it charged.

"Uh-oh," I heard Deekin say. He was visible again, and blinking owlishly at his crossbow. "That not be good. Froggie be tougher than Deekin thought."

I heard Xanos mutter something. Behind the slaad, cobwebs waved gently as if in a breeze.

The cobwebs lit with an eerie green glow. Then they began to grow, almost faster than the eye could see.

In a matter of seconds, the webbing went from filament-thin to as thick around as rope. It snapped out and around the slaad's wrists and ankles. The creature stumbled to a stop and peered down at its new constraints. " _Bursh-datht,_ " it grumbled.

That, I decided, was probably my cue. I began to move.

The chamber was dim, but the floor was relatively free of debris, and what Xanos would have called my pathetic _human_ vision had adjusted as much as it could to the low light. I ran lightly, my heels barely striking the ground.

It was probably a bad idea for me to pop out of invisibility right in front of the slaad's nose.

So I hit it from behind, instead.

I saw my own arms snap into view just as Silent Partner connected with the back of the slaad's heavy skull. A strange buzzing ran through the haft, and the engraved writing, normally so dark that it was hard to distinguish it from the surrounding wood, flared with blue-white light.

The slaad convulsed. Then it screamed, and its skin began to smoke.

I saw what the slaad had been eating. It was a legless torso with a faceless ruin for a head. I was glad I couldn't see more of it. What little I had seen was probably going to show up in my nightmares later on, along with every other horror I now had rattling around in my skull.

 _Heurodis,_ I thought. _She brought the slaadi here. This is her fault._

What hopes I had had for a peaceful resolution to the Heurodis problem faded. People who summoned demons and let them eat other people weren't people you could bargain with. Not, that is, without expecting to get eaten as soon as your erstwhile ally got what they wanted. It was that way in politics. It was that way in any game in which power was the prize. It was the way the world - any world - worked. I'd had to learn that the hard way, and like all hard lessons, it had stuck far more strongly than my starry-eyed idealism ever had.

I stepped back out of range of the slaad's flailing arms and watched, dispassionately now, as Xanos finished the job we'd come to do.

A hissing arrow streaked out of the darkness, trailing drops of acid. I didn't see it hit, but I heard a sizzle, and smelled something foul and acrid.

The slaad sagged into the net of sticky webbing, still twitching. Sparks danced over its body, which had blackened in spots and was pouring smoke like a chimney. There was a sizzling hole in its throat, bubbling over with a mixture of black blood and acid.

I took another step back, waving my hand in front of my face. "Phew," I said. "That stinks."

"Smells like cooked froggie," Deekin said unsteadily. Then he began to giggle. After a moment, I joined him.

" _Drogan must know of this new development. There is a spell, you see…I use it often. When you are doing field research, it is always useful to have a way to keep in touch with your colleagues. I may be able to contact our good friend. He will think of something…he always does."_

Xanos stalked between us, snarling incredulously. "Will you two fools shut _up_?" he snapped. "There may be others-"

I quieted. "Sorry," I said. The sorcerer had a point, and he was starting to look a little frazzled. I cleared my throat gruffly and shouldered Silent Partner. "Nerves."

"Don't worry," Deekin added. "Deekin not see any-"

A flutter of wings interrupted him. A dark shape darted across the room, heading towards me.

Deekin squeaked and raised his crossbow. I saw the silhouette of the creature, felt a tug beneath my breastbone, where my power resided, and reflexively I shouted, "Don't shoot!"

The kobold gave me a sharp, startled look and jerked his crossbow upwards at the last minute. The bolt spanged harmlessly against the high ceiling. Then it landed, with a noisy clatter, at Xanos's feet.

The half-orc looked down. "Bloody, giggling, thrice-cursed, goblin-twaddling, slop-brained imbeciles," he said, very clearly.

"Sorry 'bout that," Deekin said contritely. He shouldered his crossbow like I'd shouldered my staff. Then he grinned at me, showing needlelike little teeth. "Nerves."

The falcon, perched on the dead slaadi, looked back and forth between us and gave a hoarse little chirp. Then it took off for the double doors.

" _But it will take time…time we do not have. Go. When I have news, I will follow. No…do not worry about me. I am recovered enough. Some more water, please…and now we must set to work."_

The doors opened easily. There was nothing alive on the other side.

I glanced around, wary. Despite the chamber's apparent emptiness, I had the strange sensation that I was being watched.

Xanos walked over to a tall, black obelisk, one of several which stood in a circle at the center of the room. He was frowning. "The magic in these," he said quietly. "It has recently been activated." Gently, almost delicately, he brushed his fingers across runes that looked like they'd been seared right into the stone. There was a glimmer of light in them, rapidly fading. "Heurodis…she has gone through the portal. It is the only explanation."

A jumble of mixed emotions – relief, frustration, dread, all colored with a drop of incipient hysteria – went through my gut. "I guess it was inevitable," I said eventually. "Garrick said she was already working on it when he escaped, and that was already a day or so ago."

Xanos ignored me, or maybe he didn't even hear me. He strode further into the chamber, inspecting the columns and muttering to himself. Rude of him, but then again, that was Xanos all over – and with a magical puzzle like this right in front of the sorcerer's nose, I suspected that my presence barely registered as a blip on his personal radar.

Deekin brushed past me, following the sorcerer and exclaiming screechily over the strange writing.

I stared after them for a minute.

Then I shrugged, unholstered my flask, opened it, and took a drink, since nothing else seemed to be going on.

I sure as hell wasn't going to be of any help in translating. Those runes were nothing more than pretty pictures, as far as I was concerned – and, in all honesty, they weren't even _that_ pretty.

Without warning, the falcon winged its way over and landed on my shoulder. I'd kind of gotten used to that over the past couple of weeks. I was beginning to suspect that the damned bird did it just to see if it could freak me out.

I turned my head and looked at the falcon. It cocked its head and peered back at me, shifting its footing on my scale-covered pauldron. "So, you decided to come down here only after the coast was clear?" I asked it. "Useless animal. You're not going to shit on my boots again, are you?" The bird got a strange, slightly crazed look in its eye. It began vigorously preening its feathers. "Yeah. You'd better not."

The sensation that I was being watched hadn't gone away. If anything, it had only gotten stronger.

Casually, I moved until my back was against the wall. I didn't _see_ anything, but, in a world where talking lizards could shoot crossbows and turn invisible, anything could happen.

I watched, a little bored and a little nervy, as Xanos and Deekin both poked around the chamber. Eventually, Xanos came back, empty-handed. "There are no clues," he growled. "Xanos may be able to translate these runes, eventually, but…" He trailed off. For the first time in my acquaintance with him, he seemed completely at a loss.

I looked up at him. Wordlessly, I held out my flask.

He took it, tossing the whiskey back like a pro. Then he began to cough. "Cyric's Codpiece, woman," he wheezed, and pounded his chest. He blinked a few times. Then he took another healthy swig. "How do you drink this rotgut?" he demanded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Wow," I marveled with mock-brightness. "You mean there actually _is_ something I can do that the great Xanos can't?"

He smirked at me. "In an infinite multiverse, anything is possible," he said sententiously.

I smirked back at him. "Shut your piehole, you overgrown goblin," I said without rancor.

"Hah! Make me, you stone-faced harpy," the sorcerer retorted, grinning. Then his grin faded. He raised my flask of whiskey to his lips again.

Halfway there, he stopped. His eyes darted back and forth. "Did you…feel that?" he asked suddenly.

I frowned. I sidled a little closer to, and slightly behind, the hulking sorcerer. "Feel what?" I asked uneasily.

"Someone…someone is casting a spell. Bah! Take this!" Xanos thrust his arm at me, practically shoving the flask in my ear. I pushed his arm away and snatched my whiskey back, curling my lip at him. He hardly seemed to notice. "A powerful one, and almost..." His forehead furrowed. "…almost familiar."

Then I felt it, or rather, I heard it, a weird shimmering noise followed by the thud of a pair of boots.

Xanos stiffened. Then, fire leaping from his hands almost instantaneously, he rounded on the intruder with a snarl.

The fire hit a layer of magical shielding and vanished with a pitiful flicker.

A white-haired old dwarf raised his eyebrow at the sorcerer, smiling. "Now, now, lad," Drogan said mildly. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"


	39. Chapter 39

Xanos stood, his hands still half-raised and a slack-jawed expression of shock on his face.

I wasn't feeling that much better, myself. " _Drogan_?" I asked incredulously.

The old wizard's eyes twinkled at me from behind his spectacles. "Surprised, lass?" he asked impishly.

I blinked at him, not quite believing my own eyes. " _Drogan_?" I repeated, my voice an embarassingly breathless squeak.

Then I forgot everything else, took two quick strides forward, fell to my knees, and threw my arms around the old dwarf.

The falcon took off with an annoyed shriek. I ignored it. My eyes stung, though I didn't know why. They just did. "You have _no_ idea how happy I am to see you," I mumbled into Drogan's shoulder.

I felt him lay a gnarled hand on my hair. Laughter rumbled in his chest. "Aye, and 'tis glad I am to see ye, Rebecca," he told me fondly. His hand moved to my shoulder, and he leaned away, peering into my face. His eyes shifted, settling on the bird that had found a perch on a pile of rubble not far away. "So ye've found yer path after all," he said then, softly. "I knew ye would, lass. I knew ye would."

His words were awfully cryptic, and I was too excited to see him to try to interpret their meaning just now, so I just brushed them off. "Did Garrick get in touch with you?" I asked eagerly, settling back in a crouch with my forearms on my knees. "Did he tell you what happened? Did he-"

Drogan waved a hand at me. "Oh, aye, he told me all that's been happenin', and more besides." His eyes softened. "I must say, I'm proud of ye – both of ye," he added, looking past me to smile at Xanos. "Garrick told me what the two of ye did for him. Yer actions do ye both credit."

Xanos harrumphed. "It was nothing," he said modestly, and then ruined it by adding, "Xanos's lightning-fast analysis and genius level intellect was more than up to the task. Halassar need not thank me-"

Drogan grinned. "Well, that's good, because he didn't," he said brightly. Then he looked at Xanos's face, the sorcerer's jaw sagging nearly to his chest, and the old dwarf burst into laughter. "No, no," he added with a wave of his hand. "He did, lad. He did send his thanks, and many of 'em. I was just funnin' with ye." Drogan wiped his eyes, still chortling. "Ach, but ye should've seen the look on yer face just now," he sighed happily. "'Twas priceless, me lad, absolutely priceless."

Xanos's jaw shut with a snap. "Sometimes…" he began dourly, "…sometimes, old man, it is made clear to Xanos that that cursed faerie dragon is the ideal familiar for you, after all. And _you_ can stop cackling any time now," he added, his eyes cutting to me irritably. "Impertinent wench."

I stood up and grinned at the half-orc. "Impertinent, eh? I didn't know hill giants could use such big words," I said, slapping his chest with the back of my hand. "Someone hit you on the head and stun you smart, Mongo?"

Xanos raised an eyebrow at me. "Why?" he asked sweetly. "Are you jealous? Do not hope too much, little ogress – there is no stick big enough to knock sense into that chunk of rock you call a skull."

I snickered. "Ouch," I said admiringly. "I think I'm hurt." Xanos smirked at me smugly and buffed his fingernails on the front of his robes. I turned back to Drogan. "So, how'd you get here, anyway?" I asked the wizard curiously. "Last time I checked, Hilltop wasn't anywhere near the Anauroch."

"Ach, well, that's a story in and of itself," the wizard replied sagely. "Not long after ye left, I keyed a teleportation spell to ye, expectin' that it might come in useful." He smiled, pleased. "Seems I was right. Once Garrick got in touch with me, I put the spell in motion and came as soon as I could."

Xanos frowned thoughtfully at the old dwarf. "A teleportation spell of that nature, keyed to a specific target, requires some kind of personal effect," he said slowly. "Xanos could swear that he left nothing behind-"

Drogan smiled and held up a long strand of dark, curly hair. It looked awfully familiar. "Ye left it on yer pillow," he explained to me, and tucked the hair back into one of his belt pouches. His eyes twinkled. "Sorry for snoopin', lass, but I needed something personal o' yers to get a good lock on yer location, and it was either this or Xanos's toenail clippin's. I chose the hair. No offense, lad."

Xanos blinked. "I thought I had burned those," he remarked suspiciously.

"Not quite," Drogan answered calmly. "Ye missed a few. I found 'em under yer chest of drawers. Mind you, how they ended up there is anyone's guess."

The sorcerer's face assumed an expression of profound disgruntlement. "Bollocks. I must take better care next time," he muttered.

"Don't worry, lad," Drogan said with a shrug of his stocky shoulders. "I took care of it for ye. I know how ye worry." He made a face. "O' course, that's been the least o' my troubles lately," he added, his tone as dry as the desert around us. "I've been up to my eyeballs in research, and to make things more excitin', our enemy's been houndin' us practically nonstop – demons and devils and whatnot. I imagine the two of ye have seen much of the same."

I looked reflexively at the double doors to the next chamber, picturing the dead slaad behind them. "Just the one slaad," I said. "Strange, but that was all we found. Garrick said there was practically an army of them…"

"But Heurodis has gone through the portal," Xanos interjected grimly.

"She has already gone through?" Drogan asked sharply. He muttered a curse in Dwarven and rapped the butt of his cane against the floor, irritably. "Ach! Of all the damnable luck. I'd hoped we might still be in time-"

I was frowning. "Why would Heurodis take her army with her?" I asked slowly. "Why wouldn't she leave them here to keep people from following her?"

Xanos shrugged. "Slaadi are creatures of chaos. They take orders poorly," he offered. "Perhaps they dispersed as soon as she left."

"Really? So where'd they all go?" I countered.

The sorcerer's lips twisted into a humorless smile. "Everything here is dead," he pointed out. "Perhaps they went looking for fresh meat."

I turned my head to give him a full-on horrified stare. "You can't seriously be suggesting-" I gasped. Then I stopped, remembering the half-eaten corpse just in the next room. I didn't know how I could have forgotten it. I felt sick. "Oh, my god. You can."

Drogan reached out and patted my forearm. "Don't worry, lass," he said distractedly. He was frowning and looking a little past me, as if deep in thought. "I've discovered much about this Heurodis. She's a powerful sorceress, as it turns out, and was once apprentice to the dread lich Belpheron." His eyes focused on me, and he smiled suddenly. "So, y'see, it's unlikely that a few slaadi will slip her leash. 'Tis far more likely that she simply brought them with her to guard her prize. There's no tellin' what might be waitin' in a ruin like the one she's aimin' to uncover."

I turned my horrified stare on Drogan. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I asked faintly.

"Well, 'tis better than the alternatives, isn't it?" the wizard asked reasonably.

"Not the alternatives I'm thinking of, no-"

"Xanos has studied the exploits of this Belpheron. The lich was known for his studies of ancient Netheril," Xanos interrupted suddenly. He started pacing, his hands clasped behind his back and a pensive scowl furrowing his craggy face. "Might he have passed his knowledge on to his apprentices? Is _that_ why Heurodis has come here? Does she know exactly what lies beyond this portal?"

"Very good, lad," Drogan complimented the half-orc, his eyes alight. "Aye, that's exactly what I have surmised. This gives us confirmation: there's one or more powerful artifacts beyond that portal, maybe even an entire city that survived the cataclysm intact, and Heurodis wants that power for herself."

"Then this is why she seeks the mythallar," Xanos said. His words were fast, nearly tripping over one another, and his eyes were practically glowing. "She may need it re-activate the ancient spells…that is why she has come here! To think, a flying city of old Netheril, undamaged, pristine! The knowledge…what an opportunity! And, with the results of Belpheron's research at her disposal, Heurodis is more than capable of attaining this goal." He stopped in mid-pace. "Shar's Breath," he muttered. "Now, how is Xanos going to beat her to it?"

"Beat her to it?" I repeated incredulously. I looked back and forth between them. "Why would you even follow her? You said she wanted the mythallar – now that we know that for sure, why don't we just bury this thing, or ship it to the other end of Faerun?"

"Ye can't bury it deep enough or carry it far enough away to keep it from that one, lass," Drogan told me. "She'll find it, eventually. All it'll mean is a delay in her plans-"

"So we'll drop it off a cliff!" I countered, my voice a little shrill. "That should destroy it-"

"Aye, and everything within a score of miles, including yerself."

I stared him, aghast. "Then we'll drop it in the deepest ocean we can find!" I cried.

"And Heurodis will send fleets to chase it, armies to dive the depths for it. _She knows where it is, lass._ Somehow, she's got a sense for it, and ye can't hide it from her. Garrick said as much, and I'm inclined to believe his assessment, given what's happened here." He looked at my face, and his own face softened. " _Think,_ Rebecca," he told me. "Don't panic. Think. Why do ye suppose Heurodis wants to do this?"

I hesitated. "I…" I didn't know what to say. A tangled knot of fear and excitement and disappointment and shame and anger _and did I mention fear?_ was blocking the words in my throat. There was a magical portal in front of me, to a magical city, where magical wonders untold might await, including but not limited to whatever the hell this Heurodis had up her sleeve. With all of that fucking _magic_ waiting on the other side of the portal, I think I'd rather have stuck my feet in a meat grinder than gone through it.

"Ye met J'Nah," the old dwarf went on, gently but inexorably. "If the master is anything like her pupil, ye tell me if anywhere in Faerun would be safe should she succeed."

 _Earth might be,_ I thought, but it was a weak thought. The portal had been my hope for a way out of this place, but it was getting slimmer all the time, and I remembered the malice in J'Nah's eyes – and the fear in her voice when she'd spoken of her master. "So what do we do?" I asked, a little sullenly. "Follow her and, what, ask her nicely to stop whatever it is she's doing?"

"Unlikely. We'll probably have to stop her by trickery or by force - unless ye have any better ideas."

That shut my mouth for a second. Then I reopened it to growl, "Fine, so we go after her. How? I hate to break it to you, but the portal's closed."

Drogan looked at me curiously. "What makes ye think that?" he asked.

I was groping for a coherent response to that – something other than, "That smug green whoreson over there told me so!" - when I was interrupted by a scurry of clawed footsteps and a familiar, screechy voice. "Hey, Boss! Boss! Look what Deekin fou- oh." The kobold scrabbled to a halt, some kind of glass sphere in his hands and a look of startled uncertainty on his narrow reptilian face. He looked at Drogan. "Er. Hi," the kobold greeted the dwarf awkwardly. "Who be you?"

Drogan gave the kobold a look of benign, twinkling curiousity. "I? My name is Drogan Droganson," he answered calmly. "Once, I was teacher to Rebecca and Xanos, though no longer. Now, I'm just a friend." The dwarf stumped a few steps closer to the kobold, leaning heavily on his cane. When he was a pace or two away, he dropped down to one knee, taking him to eye level with Deekin. Then the old wizard smiled his disarming, Santa Claus smile. "But I don't believe we've met," he added. "Who might you be, little one?"

Deekin looked uncertainly at me. At my encouraging nod, he puffed out his skinny chest and stood up a little straighter. "Me is Deekin, faithful kobold companion of Boss and scribe of her epic tale!" he announced. I blinked. _Epic tale?_ I mouthed at Xanos. He shrugged irritably.

Drogan didn't bat an eye. "Then I'm very pleased to meet ye, Deekin," he said placidly. "Rebecca must be very lucky to have found such a loyal companion as yerself." He looked at the sphere in the kobold's hands. "And what's that ye got there?"

Deekin mimicked the old wizard's gesture, looking down at the sphere as if he himself was surprised to find it there. "Oh!" he said. "Deekin found that on a pedestal over-" He waved vaguely towards the other side of the room. "-there. It really neat! See, if you look into it, it show you other rooms with levers and buttons and stuff, and Deekin had a look, and the levers gots Netherese runes on them just like the ones on the columns." He grinned happily, either forgetting his suspicions of the old wizard or deciding that if Drogan was okay by us, he was okay by Deekin. "You wants Deekin to show you?" he offered magnanimously. "It be no trouble, really. No sweat. Easy as pie."

Drogan laughed and looked up at me. "Ye were askin' how we'd get that portal open, lass?" he asked drily. With an obvious effort, he pushed himself to his feet. "I think yer little friend here has the key."


	40. Chapter 40

I leaned against an obelisk and made myself comfortable. I always did like to watch other people work.

It was an indescribable relief to have Drogan around again. The old wizard took over almost immediately. He was in his element, with an arcane challenge right in front of him and two former students plus an overly helpful kobold to boss around at will.

For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, I let myself relax. Drogan was here. He'd take care of everything.

Thoroughly enraptured by the old dwarf's charm, Deekin gave up his crystal ball willingly enough. Drogan looked into it, muttering to himself.

Under the dwarf's direction, Xanos studied the runes for any signs of life, muttering to himself.

Deekin scampered to and from some strange little chambers behind the main room whenever Drogan asked, reading runes for the old wizard and pulling levers on command.

Deekin didn't mutter to himself, but he did chatter incessantly. The kobold didn't do anything by halves, and now that he'd decided that Drogan was all right, he seemed hell bent on telling the dwarf his entire life's story.

"So, this one time, right, when Deekin was looking for Boss, and he was walking and walking and walking but his feet were so tired that Deekin decided to take a little nap…"

Xanos growled wordlessly, shooting me a glower as if the kobold's babbling was somehow _my_ fault. The half-orc was moving from one obelisk to another, scrawling unintelligible symbols on the floor with a charred stick.

"…and when he wakes up, there be this big wolf, like, really big, lots bigger than Deekin, and it was right there, kinda drooling a little, like Boss does when she goes to sleep after she drinks too much brandy-"

I stiffened. "Hey!" I barked indignantly. "I do not!"

"O-kay. Sorry, Boss. Whatever you say. So anyway, then Deekin does the only thing he can think of…"

"I think that's a _sartuk_ rune over there, lad," Drogan told Xanos. "Why don't ye move it over to this leg o' the pentagram?"

Xanos frowned doubtfully. "Are you certain?" he asked.

Drogan gave him a long look. "And who was it who taught you to read Netherese runescript in the first place?" he asked pointedly. Xanos turned an interesting shade of plum. "I'm sure, lad. Move it over…hmm. There. By the northeastern obelisk." Grumbling under his breath, Xanos scuffed out some of his graffiti with the sole of his boot and started to re-draw it over by another column. All of the columns looked the same to me, but then, what did I know? Magic was a closed book to me, and if I had my way, it'd be a burned one, too.

"…and then, 'cause the tree was on fire and everything and now there was this bear, too, Deekin was starting to get kinda worried…"

Deekin's voice faded. From behind the wall, I heard a clunk.

Something behind me lit up like a neon sign. I let out a yell and stumbled away from the obelisk, which had decided to start glowing bright blue and purple and red. "What the hell was that?" I yelped.

"Netherese magic," Drogan said, and stepped into the circle of obelisks. Between him and Xanos, a web of complicated lines and strange letters had been drawn on the floor between the columns. The old wizard stood in the exact center of the whole thing, as straight and calm as a statue. "Stand back, lass. I don't think ye want to be leaning on these things for much longer."

I took him at his word. I stepped back so fast and so far that my shoulder blades bumped against the wall opposite the obelisks. "Good advice," I said breathlessly, keeping a wary eye on the obelisks. Now another one was lit up.

Xanos uttered a short, harsh laugh of scorn, probably at my cowardice. I glowered haughtily at him. He made a rude gesture back and smirked.

"…and it was singing, and then it cooked them and ate them, which is really not normal for a hill giant, Deekin hears, but hey, he not complaining…"

There was another click, and another obelisk lit up. Deekin came back into view, still talking.

"…it didn't smell too bad, really. Better than Boss's cooking, anyway…"

Xanos giggled very softly – softly for him, anyway. I looked at Drogan, saw that he was chanting the beginnings of some spell and paying no apparent attention to us, and I flipped Xanos off. "Be good, Deeks," I chided the kobold.

"Sorry, Boss."

"You will be, if she is the one doing the cooking," Xanos muttered.

I threw my hands up in the air. "What, so everyone's a critic now?" I asked plaintively.

"Even the most generous of critics would be hard-pressed to find merit in yer culinary skills, lass," Drogan said mildly. His forehead was furrowed in a slightly strained frown. "Now, hush. I've got to get this thing workin'."

I hushed, for a minute, and listened to Drogan's steady chanting.

Then I sidled over to Xanos, nervously. "What's he doing?" I whispered.

Xanos gave me a long-suffering look. "What does it look like?" he retorted.

"Like he's speaking in tongues in order to banish the demons of constipation, that's what it _looks_ like. But that's not what I asked."

Xanos lifted a bemused eyebrow. "Sometimes, you have a very colorful way with words," he said. "Are you absolutely certain that you were born a noblewoman?"

"If I was, it wasn't exactly my idea. What's he _doing,_ Xanos?"

The half-orc had just opened his mouth to answer the question when a crystalline hum cut across the chamber.

The obelisks flared. Light bloomed along the lines Xanos and Drogan had drawn, rushing like blood to the center of the circle, and in the heart of it a firefly spark of light became a spinning circle became the glowing outline of a doorway.

The portal snapped into place, and the humming stopped, though the lights coming from the obelisks didn't die down.

I stared at it. The only other portal I'd seen in my life had been in the guise of an empty picture frame. This…this was like someone had cut a two-dimensional hole in the three-dimensional world. The doorway was visible from the front, but when I moved to the side, it became a door and then a narrow line and then it just vanished from view, as if it wasn't even there.

 _What would happen if I walked into it from the side?_ I wondered. _Would half of me be there, and half of me here, or would I just be torn in two perfectly symmetrical pieces, kind of like those bodies up there?_

I couldn't scoot much further backwards, there being a wall in the way and all, but I _did_ press my back a little harder against the stone.

"And there we go," Drogan said in satisfaction. Then he paused, frowning. "Hmm. Wait before goin' through, you two. Something's-"

Whatever he said was lost in a sudden rumble. The floor heaved, and overhead, I heard the groan of tortured, twisting stone.

Sand began to slither down from above. It started as a few barely perceptible trickles of grains, soon growing to steady streams.

The sound of its hissing was loud in the sudden silence.

And then Drogan began to curse.


	41. Chapter 41

I stared, wide-eyed. I'd never heard my teacher curse before, much less do it so _loudly_ – and in so many different languages.

"Fool!" Drogan bellowed. "Stupid, stone-blind fool! I should have thought of this!"

I saw Xanos take a few steps forward. His eyes darted, studying the lines of magic. "Master Drogan?" he asked. "What is-"

"That villainess, Heurodis!" Drogan snapped. "Can't ye sense it, boy? _This_ is why she did not leave this place guarded – she has laid an insidious trap within the portal's magic! My spell's activated it, like she must have known it would, and it's takin' the whole ruin down with it!"

Almost as if in answer, the ruin gave another sickening lurch. The flagstone beneath my feet heaved up and cracked right down the middle, nearly throwing me off of it. I grabbed for the nearest stable object, which happened to be Xanos's arm.

The sorcerer didn't shake me off. He was too busy staring at Drogan in abject horror. "Then go through the portal!" Xanos barked. His voice cracked. "What are you waiting for, old man? Go through-"

"I can't!" Drogan ground out through gritted teeth. The ruin shuddered, and he blanched, staggering as if its massive weight was settling on _him_. His face went white. "The portal is tryin' to seal as we speak. I'm the only thing keepin' it open, and if I let it close, we're all dead…" He shook his head sharply and gave a weird hitch to his shoulders. There was a set look in his eyes all of the sudden, a resolute calm that I didn't like. "Quickly, now," he instructed, as placidly as if this was just another lesson. "Rebecca, Xanos, Deekin, hop to it. Ye must go through. I'll hold the way until ye've gone-"

I looked at the portal, that doorway which cut through all the rules of the universe that I had ever known, and I shuddered. "You'll follow us, right?" I asked, catching Drogan's pale blue eyes. He looked at me, his face full of…strangeness. My voice turned shrill. "You can…drop the spell or something…come through afterwards…right?"

"If I drop the spell, the ruin'll fall in an instant, and nothin' will survive its collapse," Drogan explained. His voice was even, his tone measured, like he was speaking to a child. His eyes held mine. I couldn't look away. "I'm stuck, lass," he told me gently. "Ye'll have to follow Heurodis in my stead. None of yer doubts, now – ye've got the strength in ye to do this. I wouldn't have taught ye if ye didn't. Be a good girl, now, and go-"

"No!" The word was automatic, a knee-jerk denial of what couldn't be, _shouldn't_ be happening. I turned to Xanos for support, frantic. "There has to be another way…Xanos, tell him!"

The half-orc's yellow eyes were wide, his features slack with an expression I'd never seen on him before. He looked at Drogan, fear and grief painted nakedly all over his face. "Master Drogan-" he began tentatively.

"No!" Drogan's voice cracked like a whip. "There's no way, and ye know it, lad!" He saw the look on Xanos's face, and softened his tone. "Don't worry about me, lad. Ye're a good man at heart, I've always known it to be so, and ye've been like a son to me in the time that I've known ye. Both of ye – ye're like the children I never had, and I couldn't have asked to leave a better legacy." I barely heard him. I couldn't look in his eyes any more. There were too many things there for me, too much, it was too much. "Now, if ye ever loved me, boy, I need ye to take yer sister and get out of this place. Can ye do that?"

Xanos stared at Drogan. Then he nodded, slowly, his throat moving convulsively as he swallowed. "I can," he said huskily, like his voice wasn't working right.

"Then do it. Time's wastin'."

The sorcerer nodded again. Then he turned to me, his face grim and his eyes rimmed with red, and grabbed me by the arm.

I stared at him. What was happening? He wasn't seriously going to leave Drogan here, was he? I tried to wrench my arm away from him, but his grip was unbreakable, and now he'd wrapped the other arm around my waist and was picking me up with one hand while he cradled my quarterstaff in the other and I was struggling like an eel but the gods-damned bastard _would not let go_. "Put me down!" I screamed at him. I twisted, tried to claw, tried to break free as the portal drew nearer. I couldn't go through it, not that thing, not with Drogan standing there watching me, the old dwarf's knees starting to buckle under a weight I couldn't even see. I couldn't leave him - not here, not with the whole world collapsing around us.

Dad had died. I'd probably been responsible, stressed him to death with my failures. Harry had died. He'd been caught trying to protect me. Now Drogan…Drogan…

My flailing fist connected with the half-orc's jaw. My voice rose to a shriek. "Fucking _hell_ , Xanos, let go of me! Put me down!"

Xanos jerked his head away from me, wincing. He shifted me so that my arms were pinned against his chest. "No," he said hoarsely. "You will not die, too." He looked over his shoulder. "If you are coming, lizard, then come," he added gruffly.

 _Deekin,_ I thought wildly. Deekin would talk some sense into these two! "Deeks, don't let them do this," I cried. "Don't let-"

I felt talons twine gently in the ends of my hair. "Sorry, Boss," the kobold said softly, and I didn't know what he was apologizing about until I heard him singing something, and then I saw a light coming at me at high speed, a sort of softly humming lavender glow that got bigger and bigger until it swallowed me up.

The world started spinning. I felt weird – drunk, almost, but so far gone that I could barely feel my own limbs. I saw things only in glimpses, heard words only in snatches.

I felt the vague sensation of movement, heard voices just on the edge of hearing.

"It's all right, lass," I thought I heard Drogan say, his voice as gentle as a spring rain. "This is my choice. Go, with my love, and may your god go with you."

Then I felt a ripple pass over me, and sound changed, going hollow, like I'd been dunked into a barrel of icy water.

As if from a distance, I heard a resounding crack, like the world being broken in two. Then another, and another, and then a rumbling, a horrible noise that reminded me of avalanches and snow and _I can't breathe get me out of here please please please._

Then everything went away for a little while.


	42. Chapter 42

_I'm starting to suffocate_  
_And soon I anticipate_  
_I'm coming undone  
_ _What looks so strong, so delicate._

_\- Korn, "Coming Undone"_

* * *

The first thing I saw was sand.

My cheek was pressed against it. It was so fine that it was more gritty dust than it was soil, and it smelled like a tomb.

I drew in a tentative breath. Then I sneezed. Sand rose up, getting into my eyes and nose. I started to cough, except that I had to inhale before each cough, which only drew more sand down my throat and made the coughing fit worse.

Tears streamed from my eyes. I couldn't breathe.

Rough hands rolled me over, shoved me upright. My coughing eased. A waterskin sloshed into view, right under my nose. "Drink," a voice commanded.

I blinked, trying to clear my eyes. The hand was greenish, the fingers thick and the skin shiny with old burn scars. I stared at the hand dumbly. "Drogan," I said slowly. My thoughts were coming slowly, as if they were swimming through gelatin. "Where's-"

Xanos snarled wordlessly, cutting me off. " _Drink,_ " he snapped.

I drank without protest. I seemed to be operating on autopilot. I felt very strange – numb and unreal, like I was walking in someone else's skin. It was a familiar feeling. Where had I felt it before, I wondered?

My thoughts drifted to the first time I'd gone through a portal. I'd blanked out that time, too. At least I didn't have a hangover this time around.

But I didn't have Harry waiting for me when I woke up, either. Harry, sitting patiently and smiling at me. Harry, offering me a towel to wipe my face and a drink to calm my stomach. Harry, helping me out and asking for nothing in return, showing me kindness even though I'd long since forgotten what kindness was.

Harry was dead, though. He'd died. Like my father. Like…

I couldn't finish the thought.

My hand shook on the skin. It fell to the ground. I lurched to my feet, looking around wildly.

There were shadows and sand and hulking grey shapes looming out of the dark. We were in the dead-end of what looked like a vast tunnel.

Nothing moved. There was no portal, just Xanos and Deekin and I. Not even my falcon was in sight. Maybe it was still back there, in the ruin, with…

Black spots danced in my vision, closing in. I felt dizzy.

A big fist caught me by the back of my cloak, kept me from falling. "The way back is closed," Xanos said roughly. "I have tried-"

I wasn't listening. I jerked away, spun to face him. "You," I cried. "Why'd you do it? Why did you leave? We could have helped-"

Sparks lit in the half-orc's golden eyes. "We would have died!" he thundered back at me.

I didn't want to listen. "You don't know that!" I shouted back at him accusingly. I heard the words leaving my mouth, as if listening to the words of a stranger. They writhed in my throat like living things, seething with guilt and grief and rage. "You _left_ him!" _I left him,_ came a vicious echo from inside my own head _._ "Xanos, how could you?" _How could I?_

The look that came over his face hit me like a pile of bricks. Disbelief came first, then pain, so much pain, then anger, and then I only had time to think that Xanos _never_ showed his emotions so plainly as this before he bellowed, "YOU LITTLE FOOL! Do you think I would have left him if there was the slightest hope left? Do you think so little of Xanos? Pah!" he spat, turning away. "You are just like the rest. Narrow-minded, ignorant humans…you are a fool. I am a fool. What does it matter? Drogan-" His voice broke. "Drogan is dead."

I stared at him. _Oh, god,_ I thought, and my hand reached out, but the sorcerer already had his back to me.

I couldn't handle this. It was all too much.

_Heurodis._

This was her doing.

_Heurodis._

First she'd gotten her lackeys to attack Drogan and steal the artifacts he'd been guarding, and now she'd finished the job. He was…he was…

I still couldn't finish the thought.

_Heurodis._

Her very _name_ filled me with bile. I wanted to howl it like a curse.

_Heurodis._

Then I remembered when I'd felt this way before. It had been after my father had died, and the world I'd known had come crashing down on me.

_Heurodis._

"I'll rip her _fucking_ heart out," I heard someone say. It was a vicious rasp, a bare-toothed animal snarl, and so I was surprised to discover that the voice was my own.

Xanos turned to look at me. His eyes were reddened, and his face was smudged with dirt. "Yes," he agreed, in the same exact tone. "We will."

I was moving before I was thinking. I _wasn't_ thinking. I didn't dare.

Something caught in my cloak. "Um," a small voice said. "Boss? What are you doing?"

I looked down. "Deeks," I said, and felt a flicker of…something…against the bleak, black wall of my rage. "Hide, Deeks," I had enough presence of mind to say. "Find a way out. There has to be one. Don't get involved in this."

He blinked up at me, uncertain as ever. "But-"

I reached out, ran a hand over the scaled crest that was the closest the kobold came to having horns. "Listen to me just this once, Deeks, sweetie," I said quietly. "We're going after Heurodis. Get away, while you still can." Then I turned away.

 _Heurodis,_ I thought, and exchanged glances with Xanos. Witchfire flickered at the sorcerer's fingertips. He'd drawn the dagger from his boot, and he looked as hungry for blood as I felt.

"After you, little sister," the sorcerer said pleasantly, and extended his fire-shrouded hand in some parody of gentlemanly courtesy.

I picked up Silent Partner from where it had fallen in our rush to flee the ruin. The wood thrummed under my fingertips, and, as we followed the tunnel to its end, one word hissed through my mind, pregnant with hate.

_Heurodis._


	43. Chapter 43

The tunnel was twisting, and we passed through it in quick, seething silence.

There were statues in the sand, figures of desert creatures and beasts I had no name for. They were amazingly lifelike, seemingly frozen in a moment of movement. I didn't know where they'd come from. I didn't care. I had only one thing on my mind.

Eventually, the tunnel opened into a cavern so large that I couldn't see its ceiling.

There was a dais in its center, rising from the sand. At the top of its steps there was a door.

There was a figure on the dais. It was cloaked and hooded, shrouded from head to toe.

" _She was cloaked,"_ Garrick's voice said, trembling even in my memory _. "I did not see her face. Her servants called her Heurodis…"_

We made no attempt at stealth. She knew we were coming, anyway.

As we approached, the figure turned to face us. "Ah," it said. "You have come to join me at last."

I placed my foot on the first step. "We're not joining you," I said. Power rose in my throat and danced on my tongue, impatient to silence her if she tried anything.

"Oh, but you are," the figure said smoothly. Her hooded head turned slightly from side to side. "I was expecting the mage, Drogan, to be with you," she mused, her voice a strange and sickly rasp. "Has he been delayed?"

Xanos bared his teeth. "He is dead. And you, witch, only mock his death by claiming ignorance." He mounted the steps beside me.

"Do I?" She said it as if Drogan's death, and her part in it, was nothing more than a curiosity. It made my mind go flat with fury. I was beyond speech - even the press secretary in me couldn't have summoned a coherent sentence if she'd tried. "But you mistake me, young sorcerer," Heurodis went on in tones of innocent surprise. "I did not intend for him to die. You see, I had hoped to confront him in person." She seemed to watch our approach. "You are his students, I presume," she added calmly. "Yes, I know of you both, so do not look so surprised." She lifted a gloved hand towards me. "Rebecca Blumenthal, noblewoman from an unknown family, follower of a powerless and near-forgotten god...or so rumor would have it-" Her other hand lifted towards Xanos. "-and Xanos Messarmos...only a poor and loutish half-orc, they say, but a lout with very lofty ambitions, indeed." Her tone was mocking.

The sorcerer's fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger. "Bah!" he spat. "Xanos is "only" a half-orc as much as you seem "only" a sorceress. Spare Xanos your condescension, you pustulant whore. He has seen quite enough of it in his lifetime."

A deep, rasping laugh made her slim shoulders shake. "You are surprisingly perceptive, for one of your kind - though you are precisely as crass as I expected," she said lightly. "Ah, well. Have you other tricks in store for me, half-orc?"

Xanos and I reached the last step. "You shall see them soon enough, witch," the half-orc warned, his voice a menacing rumble. "Rebecca and I are not here to chat."

"No," she sighed. "I can see that." She stood her ground as we approached. "You are quite angry, hmm?" she asked, almost conversationally. "You should not be, you know. I lost my own mentor under similar circumstances. Oh, yes, I was enraged, but I soon found that with the end of my servitude came access to such power…" She took in a deep, hissing breath. Her head turned towards me. "…power such as that which you carry in the form of the mythallar," she added softly. She held out her black-gloved palm. "Give it to me, child," she commanded.

My nostrils flared. My lips peeled back from my teeth. I was beyond diplomacy, beyond civility, beyond caring. "Make me," I breathed.

"You will give it to me one way or another," Heurodis countered coolly. She didn't retract her hand. "You might as well do so willingly. It will be less painful, that way."

I shuddered heavily. There was too much anger in me, screaming for release. I couldn't contain it. "Over my dead body," I rasped, and stepped forward.

The sorcereress's upraised hands stopped me. I watched them warily, waiting for some sign of what she planned to do. "Oh, no," she said smoothly. "I will not kill you. Where would be the fun in that?" There was something in her tone, something that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Then I watched, time seeming to slow, as her hands rose to her cowl. "Here," she added. "Allow me to remove my hood. It will explain much."

Something told me to _look, look closely, now,_ and I found myself helpless to look away as Heurodis's fingers closed around the fabric which obscured her face.

Then I heard a piercing shriek peal through the air, and the spell I was under shattered like glass.

A shadow flickered over me, became a winged shape that dove straight at Heurodis's face, screaming a challenge.

The falcon's talons were outstretched, ready to to tear, to kill.

Then Heurodis removed her hood, and time seemed to slow even further, stretched out from one heartbeat to another.

_Beat._

Sand hissed over the dais as the still air of the cavern began to move.

_Beat._

From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of eerie light, like the eyes of a cat in the dark.

_Beat._

The falcon, _my_ falcon, the one I'd thought had been buried with Drogan back in the ruin, froze in its dive.

_Beat._

Xanos was shouting something. I wasn't listening. Grey flashed over the falcon, the grey of stone, just like the statues we'd seen, spreading from its beak to its wingtips in a flash.

_Beat._

Heurodis was stepping away, turning, and the falcon dropped from the air with the heavy thud of a fallen rock. I watched spiderweb cracks spread all over it, right before it shattered like glass, and the pieces crumbled straight to dust.

_Beat._

I turned to see Xanos, to see grey swallowing his skin, just like it had with the falcon. His eyes met mine for an instant, and then the grey covered them, turning him to stone.

_Beat._

Heurodis turned to me, a nest of vipers writhing around her head, her withered lips parting on a word I couldn't hear.

_Beat._

And then a wordless howl of rage echoed in the wind, and it slammed through me like a blast from a hurricane.


	44. Chapter 44

All of the breath left my lungs. My vision went white.

I was flying, or falling, I wasn't sure which, and then something seemed to grab me by the scruff of the neck and _yank_ me to an abrupt, jarring stop _._

A familiar shadow enfolded me, sweeping around me like a protective cloak.

Everything went still.

 _Smells like rain_ , I thought hazily.

Then I realized that I couldn't feel my own body anymore.

Heurodis was craning her neck to look up at me, her eyes gleaming like two coins.

The sorceress's mouth twisted wrily. The snakes that were her hair twined around one another, hissing. "Clever," she said. "Very clever. It seems that your god is not quite so powerless, after all."

Then the medusa pulled her hood up and turned away. "In the end, however, it will all be quite futile," she added evenly. "The Rider of the Wind may have spared you my gaze, young priestess, but the mythallar that was once yours…" The sorceress stooped, and retrieved a tiny crystal from a pile of familiar-looking scale and leather. "…is now mine." Her voice was a satisfied purr.

 _The mythallar,_ I thought in alarm. I tried to move to stop her, feeling a strange sensation of _flow_ , like I was made of water, or maybe of smoke.

Something stopped me, like a hand on the shoulder that I no longer seemed to have. _"Be still,"_ a familiar voice murmured to me. Uncharacteristically, it shook, an undercurrent of agitation threading through it - agitation, and _anger_ , a searing thing like a supernova that I was glad I could only sense the edges of. Had that anger been aimed at me, it might have incinerated me on the spot. _"Please, my Rebecca, my own, be_ still _."_

"You see, this once was a great city," Heurodis went on conversationally. She stroked the mythallar with gentle fingers, the way you might a sleeping cat. "It was known as the flying city of Undrentide. Of course, Undrentide flies no longer," she added matter-of-factly, and carefully tucked the mythallar into a concealed pocket somewhere beneath her cloak. "It crashed to the earth long, long ago when all of the other flying cities of Netheril did the same...though Undrentide fared better than most. Now, that happy accident will serve me well. With the power of this mythallar, Undrentide will rise again – under _my_ sway."

The medusa stepped past Xanos's frozen form. The sorcerer's hand was outstretched, and he was caught in mid-lunge, his face fixed in a permanent snarl.

Now, Heurodis inspected his face carefully, and she smiled, her teeth too long behind her bloodless lips. "And you…you, my petrified subject," she told him, "…you shall have the honor of being the first monument to my victory. You will stand by and bear witness, as all of Faerun learns to fear my name and bow to the power of ancient Netheril reborn." She patted his arm and leaned close to whisper in his ear. "It is a pity that your friend could not help you," I heard her hiss. "It was not very kind of her, to abandon you to this fate."

Then the sorceress looked up at me, and I could hear her laughter. "I will leave you, now, to contemplate your failures," she announced. She turned, her hand on the ancient door. "Do not try to stop me, priestess," she warned sibilantly. "You are no match for a daughter of the medusae."

Then she left. The door closed behind her with a boom.


	45. Chapter 45

I watched Heurodis go, though I didn't know with what. I couldn't feel my eyes. Did that mean I didn't have eyes anymore?

" _Yes,"_ I heard Shaundakul respond. _"And then again…no."_

I felt a flash of irritation at this typical non-answer, but it was far-off and faint. It was as if a curtain of smoked glass had been dropped between me and my emotions. _"Fine. So what am I now?"_ I asked, or thought, or emoted.

" _A wraith,"_ my god replied. _"A cloud of mist. A puff of air. All of these, and none."_

I didn't really understand. One second I'd been a living, breathing woman, and now I was what apparently amounted to a sentient rain cloud.

Then again, they said that the human body was about sixty percent water, so…

Shaundakul's voice was amused. _"That is an...unusual way to look at it."_

I swirled in agitation. _"Are you reading my mind again?"_ I demanded testily.

The god laughed. _"I am impressed,"_ he said.

" _What?"_

" _You are the only mortal I have ever known who is capable of becoming irritable even while disembodied."_

I rippled slightly. My annoyance had already faded. Now I was just vaguely amused. _"Yeah, I'm good like that,"_ I said. I paused. _"So, does this mean I'm dead?"_ I asked curiously.

" _No."_

" _Oh. Well, that's a relief."_

The sense of his presence brightened. It surrounded me, becoming, for a moment, the only thing in the whole world that I could sense. _"My dear, dear child. Do you think I would allow you to die in such a way, if it was within my power to prevent it?"_ he asked me.

At first, I was inclined to say 'yes'.

Then I wondered why I should bother to keep lying. He knew the truth, I knew the truth, and both of us knew that we knew it. Denying it would just make me look silly, and then he'd probably laugh at me and call me on it anyway, so what was the point?

" _No,"_ I replied at last. _"I guess you wouldn't."_ I heard a soft chuckle, and felt a wave of warmth pass over me like a fond caress.

I didn't know whether it was the misty apathy that allowed me to ask the next question, or whether it was just the sure and certain knowledge that I _could_ ask, because he'd always answered my questions before - even if he hadn't always given me the answers I was hoping for. _"You don't like losing any of us, do you?"_ I mused.

He paused. _"No,"_ he said, and I heard the ancient pain echoing behind that one word. From the edges of my perception, I caught a glimpse of long, long years spent in loneliness and loss and regret, and I thought that, in that instant, if he hadn't kept most of his consciousness apart from mine - if he hadn't shielded me from the worst of his grief - I would have lost my mind.

" _I'm sorry,"_ I said eventually. The heart I didn't have was aching, and no words seemed to be sufficient for the enormity of what I'd glimpsed. I said them anyway. _"I'm sorry."_

I felt another brush of warmth, like a hand stroking my hair. _"Do not be,"_ he murmured, a smile in his voice. _"The fault was never your own."_

Something about the way he said that rang a bell in my head. _"You think the fault was yours?"_ I asked.

He was silent for a long time. I waited patiently. It wasn't as if I had anything else to do.

Eventually, the god spoke. _"You cried to me for help…you, my mortal children_ ," he said, his voice heavy. _"I sought to answer, but each death tore a part of me away, and as the slaughter went on, I grew more and more powerless to stop it. I could only watch and listen as you died, one by one, and know that I had betrayed you…"_

I would have frowned, if I could. _"No you didn't,"_ I argued – reasonably, I thought. _"You tried to stop it."_

He would not be consoled. _"I failed,"_ he whispered.

I meditated on that for a while. _"So, gods do grieve, after all,"_ I said eventually. I didn't know how I'd ever thought otherwise. Entwined as I was with his presence, his pain cut like a knife.

His one-word acknowledgement was all the confirmation I needed - if I needed any at all. _"Yes,"_ he sighed, and it sounded like the moan of the wind over the graves of thousands of forgotten souls.

 _Forgotten by everyone else, maybe,_ I thought suddenly. _But not by him._

He must have heard me, because the warmth of his presence suffused me suddenly. _"Never,"_ he said. _"The world will die, the stars will fail, but I will never forget one of my own. I will never forget_ you _, my Rebecca."_

Never was a long time, even for an immortal, but I appreciated the sentiment, nevertheless. I would have smiled, but that was kind of hard without a face. _"Good to know,"_ I said.

We were quiet for a while. What we were waiting for, I wasn't certain, but I wasn't in any rush. I didn't seem to feel the same sense of urgency that I had when embodied. Maybe time passed differently for clouds. Maybe the need to rush was glandular, and, lacking glands, I wasn't as beholden to it as I'd been before.

I thought, because I didn't really have anything else to do.

Eventually, I sighed. _"Drogan is dead, isn't he?"_ I asked sadly. The pain was far-off and muted, but it still felt a little like my heart had just been sawn in half.

 _"Yes,"_ was the simple reply. _"But such was his choice."_

I remembered the look of set resolution in the old dwarf's eyes. _"Shitty choice to have to make,"_ I murmured.

I heard a short, wry laugh. _"They often are, my dear."_

_"Amen to that."_

I mused a while longer. Drogan had made a choice. It occurred to me that I really hadn't. I'd just reacted. That's what I'd always done. Shit happened to me, and I just...coped. Either that, or I panicked. But I didn't really _choose_.

I'd sort of thought that I was tired of having bad shit happen to me. Now, in this state of misty meditation, I wondered if what I'd _really_ been sick of had been the feeling that I had no control over what happened in my life - no _choice_.

Shaundakul hummed thoughtfully. _"There is always a choice,_ " he observed tactfully - tactfully, at least, for someone who'd apparently been eavesdropping on my thought process. _"Even if all of the choices are, as you say...shitty."_

I felt the sudden urge to laugh. _"I don't think I've ever heard of a god cursing before,"_ I remarked.

I heard a soft snort. _"It must be your influence,"_ he returned drily.

_"You mean gods can learn from their followers, too?"_

His voice was bland. _"Those of us who have not permanently entombed our minds within the stone of our temples, yes."_

 _"Well, well, well. It sounds like_ somebody _has an opinion."_

_"Perhaps."_

_"Is that god-speak for, 'I have no comment at this time,'?"_

I heard a ripple of laughter. _"Perhaps,"_ he repeated mildly, his voice amused.

 _"Fine,_ " I murmured. _"Be that way. I'll get it out of you yet."_

There was an impish tone to his voice. _"Perhaps."_

_"You enjoy being deliberately obtuse, don't you?"_

_"Naturally. It is a trait I share with my followers."_

_"Funny. Very funny."_

His laughter fell on me like a soft spring rain, warming and cooling all at the same time.

Soothed by it, my thoughts gelled quietly, forming one after another and then lining up like obedient little soldiers.

Eventually, I drifted downward, settling pensively around Xanos's petrified form. I surveyed him with my non-eyes. Seeing him like that hurt me, too, even in my numb and insulated state. _"Why didn't you do the same thing for him that you did for me?"_ I asked.

" _Because he is not one of mine. My power could not reach him. I am sorry, Rebecca. I know he is your friend."_

 _Friend._ I toyed with the word, prodded at it thoughtfully to see how it felt. _Yes. That's right. Friend. Why didn't I think of that earlier?_ God, but it was so much easier to _think_ without all of my emotions crowding me and clamouring for my attention. Everything was so much clearer this way. _"Is he still alive?"_ I asked.

" _Yes. His soul is still anchored in his body."_

I thought, drifting on an air current, about choices, and how life seemed to enjoy handing me the really hairy ones.

 _Well, if life hands you lemons,_ I mused, _...you might as well just throw in some tequila and have yourself a margarita._

Abruptly, I swirled in a tight circle and settled down in front of the frozen half-orc. _"I'm not leaving him,"_ I announced.

Shaundakul's tone was neutral. _"Why?"_ was all he asked.

 _"Because he's never left_ me _behind, no matter how much I've pissed him off,"_ I answered. I drifted around the sorcerer's head, wondering if he could hear me or see me or if he was locked away, insensible, somewhere inside all of that stone. _"Because I want to make my own fucking choices, for once in my life."_ I came to a stop in front of Xanos's frozen face, and sighed. _"Because he's my friend,"_ I whispered at last. _"And he deserves better than this."_

That glow of divine affection and approval washed over me again. I could have basked in it for an eternity, if he'd have let me. _"There, now. That was not so hard a truth to speak, was it?"_ Shaundakul murmured.

Then he laughed, and his presence passed softly from my awareness, like a shadow crossing the sun.


	46. Chapter 46

A lone figure peeked out from behind the petrified form of a minotaur.

The figure blinked. Its head swung warily from side to side.

Then it leapt out of cover and scurried across the sand.

The figure ran to another statue, this one of a sandcat. Then it hid behind that one for a while.

Patiently, I watched the figure's furtive, zig-zagging progress towards the dais.

Eventually, it reached Xanos. It looked up at him. Then it gave him a tentative poke and sighed. "Poor green man," it mourned. "Him not so green any more."

Then its eyes fell on a pile of discarded equipment. It froze.

"Oh, no," it moaned. Its scrawny hands reached out, closing around the haft of a zalantar staff. It pulled the staff to its chest and…was it starting to _sniffle_? "Oh, no, no. Deekin is sorry, Boss! He tried to get here sooner, he really did, but you told little Deekin to hide and you got that look on your face that make Deekin think he gonna be a new pair of boots real soon if he not listen and now Deekin will never get to finish your epic tale and, and, and…" The kobold sat down on my armor, his little chest hitching with sobs. "And now Deekin never going to get published!" he wailed.

If I could have, I would have blinked. _Boots?_ I wondered bemusedly. _Really? Do I look_ that _scary?_

Then, because Deekin was really getting himself worked up, I decided to intervene.

I wafted gently downwards, floating on a current of air. _"Psst,"_ I whispered.

Deekin's head jerked up. He looked around wildly. "Boss?" he squeaked.

So far, so good. _"Yes,"_ I said, or emitted, or transmitted, or whatever it was I was doing to communicate. It still wasn't entirely clear to me. I thought the words, just like speaking, and they happened – I just appeared to be skipping the steps that involved actual physical movement. _"Can you hear me?"_

The kobold wrinkled his snout and rubbed the side of his head, right where his ear was. Being a reptile, he didn't really have an ear, persay – just a hole, guarded by a small, bony spur. "Yeah," he said. "You sound kinda funny, but Deekin can hear you." He cocked his head, as if listening. Then his eyes tracked straight to me as if he could see me perfectly, though as far as I knew I was just an indistinct cloud of fog in the darkness. "Oh!" he exclaimed, and brightened up. "There you are, Boss. Yippee! You're alive! Deekin is so happy! Wow, what happened to you? Wait, did you die? Are you a ghost? Will you be haunting Deekin now? If you are, can he write about it?"

I was glad that the little guy wasn't completely griefstricken. Still, I would have liked it if he could sound a little less _excited_ about my apparent demise. _"No, no, no, and no,"_ I said. _"But thank you for your tender concern for my welfare."_

"Aww, Boss." The little reptile hunched his shoulders and scrubbed his talons in the dirt sheepishly. "Deekin happy you be alive, honest." He blinked at me mildly. "It just that ghost Boss would have made for a really good story. How did you get to be that way, anyway?"

" _It's a long story,"_ I sighed. _"If we all manage to get out of here alive, I'll tell it to you, I promise."_

"Uhh, sure, but…it probably a good idea for us to hide soon. Deekin saw other people around…well, other lizards."

_"Lizards?"_

"Asabi. They a kind of lizardfolk. They lives in the desert, and they not little, like Deekin. They also not be half as nice." He fidgeted. "Deekin heard the Asabi talking, too – they been here before. They gots tunnels. They was gonna be coming back. Maybe we should hide?"

I didn't sense anything, myself, but I trusted Deekin's paranoia. It had kept him alive this long, despite all of the odds that were stacked against him. _"All right,"_ I said. _"Lead on."_

Deekin bobbed his head. "Sure thing, Boss," he said, and hopped to his feet. "Oh, and, uh, Boss...you might wanna be real quiet. Um. Quieter, anyway. Deekin not really know how to put this, but…"

I sighed. _"Spit it out, Deeks,"_ I said, drifting after him as he hurried over to a conveniently large and petrified ogre. Once we were concealed, the kobold hummed a few notes and vanished from view entirely. He was getting good at that, I noticed. _"Trust me, whatever you're going to say, it can't make things worse than they already are."_

Deekin complied, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Well, you humans…not hear so well, Deekin finds," he explained. "Or…maybe you hear, but, well…you not _feel_ sounds the way kobolds do, you know?"  
 _  
"Not really."_

It was Deekin's turn to sigh. "It kinda hard to explain," he said, "…but you not making any actual noise right now, see."

" _You just told me to be quiet, Deeks. That implies that I wasn't being quiet before."_

"You were quiet, just…not to lizard ears. Warm-bloods…er, humans and elves and stuff, that is, probably can't hear you, 'cause you making a kind of sound that their ears don't catch." I heard a soft rasp, the scratch of clawed fingers against scales. "But the Asabi be lizards. They probably hear Boss just like Deekin can. That be the problem."

Finally, I understood. _"Oh. Oh. That's bad."_

"Yeah. That what Deekin be saying."

 _"All right. No talking unless I have to. Gotcha."_ I settled into the ogre's shadow. _"Now, let's see what these asabi you mentioned are up to."_

We waited.

Eventually, the currents of air at the far end of the cavern shifted.

A group of Asabi crept out. They were taller than Deekin, heavier, and the colors of their scales shifted as they moved, like chameleons. They also had spiny frills around their necks, which lifted nervously as the lizardmen approached the dais.

When they were almost close enough to make out the scales on their snouts, the group split, as if on some unspoken command.

Some of the asabi hurried to a place beneath the dais, where they knelt to brush the sand with their long hands, revealing a stretch of canvas and wood. They pulled it back, revealing a narrow tunnel.

Others crept up to the dais, peering curiously at Xanos. They prodded at the petrified half-orc experimentally and chattered amongst themselves in quick, high-pitched voices.

One of them seemed to be fascinated by my pile of equipment – Silent Partner in particular. I only had time enough to wonder if I should have asked Deekin to pick my stuff up, and then, as quickly as that, the asabi had it.

The one who'd looted mystuff scurried away, leather and zalantar practically spilling from his arms. I felt a little annoyed by that. I'd have liked to rematerialize and kick him, but there was still Xanos to worry about, and me getting my skull broken by my own staff wouldn't help either of us any.

The other asabi, after a brief argument, shouldered the sorcerer and carried him carefully down the stairs and into the tunnel.

The half-orc's head bonked into the tunnel supports a couple of times before his transporters got him angled correctly. I really hoped that he hadn't felt that, or he was going to be in a _really_ mean mood when we got him back on his feet.

"Uh-oh," Deekin whispered. "This not be good. What you want to do, Boss?"

I stirred. Xanos had saved my ass more than once. Now he was the one who needed saving, and I owed it to him to try.

As for Heurodis…

Heurodis had said I was no match for her.

Well, I'd show that withered old cunt what it meant to cross a Blumenthal. Our lawyers weren't even the _half_ of it.

Besides - those asabi had all of my stuff. If I didn't get my clothes back, I was going to have to go after Heurodis naked, and that would be _really_ awkward.

" _Follow,"_ I whispered to Deekin. _"Don't let Xanos out of your sight."_

Deekin didn't reply, but I felt the air move, and I saw small, careful footprints edging away through the sand. They headed towards the tunnel.

I followed, as silent as a breeze.


	47. Chapter 47

The ground trembled.

"See what we have brought for you, Master Ashtara," wheedled a breathy, whining voice.

"Yes. You have brought me an ungodly monstrosity of a statue." snarled another in return. The air quivered with the impact of a fist hitting flesh. "I should kill you for allowing that passage to collapse – all to collect this worthless trash?"

The first voice disintegrated into pure terror. "Y-you wouldn't!" it gasped.

"Do not tempt me." I heard the by-now familiar scrape of reptilian talons against the floor. "Go," the second voice commanded abruptly. "I want that passage cleared. No, not you – you, come with me. I have changed my mind. Bring what you have found. Perhaps this statue may be of use after all…"

It wasn't until the voices had faded that I heard Deekin speak.

"Asabi boss got green man, Boss," he said quietly.

" _I know,"_ I replied. _"You still have that crossbow of yours?"_

I heard the hesitation in Deekin's voice. "Yeah," he said. "Why?"

" _Because we might need it,"_ I said. _"Come on. Let's find out where they've stashed him."_

We crept through the tunnel. Sand and stone sleeted down from the ceiling every so often. Some of it passed through me as it fell. It tickled.

There was light at the other end of the tunnel. "Put it there," the one called Ashtara commanded. "No, you fool, not there. I do not want to have to look on it…turn it to face the wall. Ahh. Much better. Good. Now, leave me."

Two of the asabi appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. They shuffled our way.

I whispered off to one side, too slowly. One of the asabi walked right through me.

Then he stopped, a puzzled expression on his face. He sneezed.

His friend looked at him strangely. "What is it?" he asked.

"Something felt funny," the other complained. He banged the heel of his hand against his head and winced. "It made my head tingle."

His friend snickered. "Ashtara hit you too hard," he said. "Come on. We got work to do."

They shuffled away. If I'd had lungs, I would have breathed a sigh of relief.

The tunnel opened into a wide chamber. Where the plaster hadn't yet peeled off, the walls were frescoed in geometric designs, a lot like they had been in the other ruin. The ceiling was tall and coffered. Flakes of gilt still clung to the beams.

A large, brightly colored asabi was standing on one side of the chamber, near a long wooden table. He was standing in front of Xanos. His hands were busy placing something around the sorcerer's neck.

I slid softly into the chamber and trickled along the far wall, mindful of Deekin's warnings about reptilian hearing.

The asabi was speaking. "We both know what you are, my statue," he murmured. "Though those fools do not." Something clicked. The asabi drew his hands away and stepped back, looking Xanos up and down critically. "What value do you have, I wonder? You seem a mage, though a strange one. No matter - with your size, I am sure you will fetch a good price in the gladiator pits of Ammar, where you will live a short and glorious life before you die. Never fear," he added, tapping his talons against the half-orc's stony back and chuckling. "I have in this very chamber the means to return you to flesh once we arrive at the block, O statue. Pity you cannot reach it, hmm?"

I drifted in Xanos's direction. There was something shiny around his neck. It looked, I thought, a lot like a collar.

"Now, let us see what else you have brought, O statue," Ashtara murmured. He turned. The fine scales on his face were patterned like a Rorschach test, flaring red and green and orange to either side of his nasal ridge. "Zalantar and mithril, I see," he said, running his dry palms along Silent Partner's haft. "Enchanted, no less. A fine weapon, but not one befitting a brute such as you. Hmm. What else?"

I wondered where Deekin was. I couldn't see him, and in the guttering light of the lanterns that lit this place, the currents of air were indistinct to me, so I couldn't even sense his movements from the way he displaced the air.

"I see that even warm-bloods see the superiority of scales over skin. Alas that this armor is quite mundane, but a wise merchant throws nothing away." Ashtara held up my leather-and-scale. He paused. "But this is much too small for you, my brute," he said thoughtfully. He laid the armor down on his table. Then he picked up a much smaller strip of cloth. He held it up to the light. His eyes narrowed. "And I sincerely hope _this_ does not belong to you," the lizardman added meditatively.

 _Hey, that's_ my _bra you've got there, you pervert,_ I thought with a little ripple of indignation. I glided closer. _Get your ugly hands off of it._

And then, when Ashtara's head snapped around, I realized my mistake.

The asabi cocked his head, his slit-pupilled eyes roaming the chamber.

They slid past me once. Then, with an air of chilly contemplation, they slid back. The pupils dilated. Focused. Stilled.

The lizardman let my breast binding drop from his fingers. "Ah," he said. "Ah. I see."

Then the asabi turned away. He went to one of several iron-bound chests that had been lined up against the far wall. He knelt, and came up with something in his hand.

Ashtara turned and stepped my way, his tail swaying gracefully. "Tell me, O restless spirit," he said jovially. His eyes never left me. "What brings you here, to Ashtara's den?"

I considered retreat. Then I reasoned that, if reptiles were better at hearing and seeing motion, I was better off staying where I was.

So I held my position, watching with mild and hazy dismay as Ashtara came closer.

The asabi paused a few feet away from me. "My scavengers find a woman's garb, but not the woman," he said. "I hear a woman's voice, whispering in my ears, but no woman do I see. What should I make of this, hmm?" Then he lifted his arm. A bone wand nestled in his fingers, its business end pointed straight at me. "Let us find out."

As the tip of the wand bloomed with a bluish light, it occurred to me that I may have made an error in judgement.

Ashtara seemed to be able to see me just fine, now that he knew I was around.

Concealment was no longer something I had to worry about.

Dodging was.

The beam of light hit me. It scattered, turning my whole world blue.

And then feeling rushed back, that sense of having skin and muscle and blood and breath. It hit me all at once, leaving me stunned and disoriented.

Unfortunately, fear came back, too, screaming in like a freight train.

I hit the floor with an impact that drove my rediscovered breath right out of me. The part of me that smacked against the stone ( _My back,_ I thought suddenly, remembering. _That's right. That's my back.)_ consumed all of my attention for several long moments, because it hurt like a motherfucker.

Then I forgot all about my back, because clawed fingers were closing around my throat and lifting me up from the floor.

I dangled, choking. My hands went to the ones that were holding me up and tried to claw, but my flimsy human fingernails couldn't claw through scales. My bare feet tried to get purchase on the floor, but they kept slipping.

 _I'm going to die_ , I thought angrily, trying futilely to suck in a breath through the vise-grip that was clamped around my windpipe. _I'm going to die, and my obituary's going to read 'strangled to death by crazy super-sized iguana' and if there's an afterlife Shaundakul is_ so _getting a piece of my mind when I get there..._

Ashtara chuckled. "Well, well," he said. "The gods have smiled on Ashtara after all." He looked me up and down, seemingly oblivious to my struggles. " _You_ will make a far nicer statue," he remarked. "I do not think you will join your friend in the gladiator pits. You would be wasted there." He reached for a circle of metal that hung at his belt. "Hold still, my pretty slave. This will only take-"

I heard a soft, organic noise _._ Ashtara stopped in mid-sentence. A very strange expression came over his face.

Then he roared in agony and dropped me.

I landed on my knees this time. My kneecaps hit the floor with a thump and an interesting grinding sensation. I let out a sound that was half a groan and half a scream.

Somewhere beyond my fog of pain, I heard a _click-fwip-thunk_. I was aware of a tall figure suddenly becoming much shorter.

Something fell in front of me, heavily. I stared at it, wide-eyed.

Ashtara's eyes were glassy and unseeing. I wasn't sure, but I thought the crossbow bolt sticking out of his forehead might have had something to do with that.

I looked up to see Deekin, his crossbow in his hands and his eyes fixed on Ashtara's corpse. "Deeks?" I said hoarsely. My throat hurt. I tried to stand. My battered kneecaps protested, as did my back. Both buckled, and I nearly fell on top of Ashtara. "Oh, thank god. How did you-"

Belatedly, I noticed that the kobold didn't seem to be hearing me. He was backing away from the corpse, his eyes too wide and the crossbow trembling in his hands.

I looked at him. "Deeks?" I asked, more mildly. "What's wrong?"

He still didn't look at me. "Deekin never…he never…" he mumbled, his voice shaking as badly as his hands. "Old Boss kills other kobolds, sure, it happened, and kobolds fight all the time, but Deekin…he never…"

I stared at him. Sometimes I forgot that Deekin wasn't a miniature human with scales, but a species apart, with all that entailed. I remembered how it had felt to kill J'Nah, who hadn't been human but had been close enough to it that her death hit home too hard. Ashtara hadn't been a kobold – but I wondered if he'd been close enough to it. "Oh, god," I said. With an effort, I pushed myself to my feet. "Deeks, I'm so sorry-"

His crossbow clattered to the floor. He covered his face with his long-fingered hands and gave a strange shudder. "Ooh. Deekin not feeling so good," he moaned.

I didn't remember stepping over Ashtara's corpse, but I must have done it, because in the next moment I was kneeling down next to Deekin, reaching out, gathering the little bard up into my arms. "Shh, shh," I murmured, cradling the kobold to me as he curled into an unresisting ball. His scaled hide was dry and warm, and he was so thin, so fragile, his bones as light and hollow as a bird's. "Shh, sweetie, it's okay, it's okay. You did a good thing. It's okay."

The kobold's claws dug into the skin around my collarbone. I tried not to wince. "It not a good thing, what Deekin just did," he whispered. "Oh, no. Not a good thing at all-"

"Deeks." My voice was level, easing over his muffled protests. "What would Ashtara have done, if you'd left him alive?"

Deekin hesitated. "He'd have killed you, or maybe put a collar on you, just like with green man," he said faintly. "Probably Deekin, too."

"And then?"

I felt his chest rise and fall with a sigh. "Then he sell us all, and we die somewhere, maybe. Or we just be slaves forever, and Deekin never be free to have any adventures," the kobold admitted.

"So what else could you have done, if you hadn't killed him?" I didn't pull the punch. Deekin knew what he'd done, and my dancing around the issue wouldn't help him. What would help him was knowing that he'd done the best thing he could, despite the blood on his hands. It was what had helped _me,_ when I'd been in the same place. "What would have happened?"

The kobold's thin shoulders lifted in a weak shrug. "Probably nothing," he said. "Deekin could have run away, maybe, but then Boss still be caught, and Deekin feel terrible, 'cause Boss the only person who ever really been nice to little Deekin…"

I remembered something Shaundakul had said to me, once. "Ashtara made the choice to be a slaver," I said quietly. "You chose to stop him. That's all. Be happy that you made a better choice than he did." I tightened my arms around the little kobold. "Besides, you made sure the bad guy couldn't hurt anyone else. Isn't that what heroes do?" I added.

That got him to look up at me. His eyes were glistening. "Really?" he asked.

"Really."

"Oh." He blinked. "So…Deekin a hero now?" he said hopefully.

I smiled. "You're my hero, Deeks," I told him. Then I grimaced and rubbed my throat. I sounded like an eighty year old chain-smoker with a bad case of emphysema, and I'd probably keep sounding that way for several days, thanks to Ashtara. He'd had one hell of a grip - if he hadn't died, he might have had a bright future as a world class pickle-jar-opener. "That bastard would've strangled me if you hadn't taken care of him."

"Oh." Deekin blinked again. "Deekin never been a hero before," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe, someday, he can write his own epic tale? How 'bout that?"

I stared at him. Then I grinned. "Sure," I said. "Why not?" I opened my arms, and Deekin squirmed out of them readily, sniffling and rubbing his eyes. "Maybe we'd better take care of Xanos first, though. What do you think?"

"Aw. Can't we leave him like that? Green man much nicer when he not talking."

"Be good, Deeks."

"Sorry, Boss." Then Deekin looked at me critically. "Uh, Boss?" he added diffidently.

"Yeah?"

"You might wanna put some clothes on first."


	48. Chapter 48

I eased myself into my clothes and armor, wincing, while Deekin ransacked Ashtara's stores.

Eventually, he surfaced from one of the chests with a squeal of triumph. "Found it! One potion of stone to flesh, comin' right up!" he crowed, and spun around, a sloshing, raffia-bound bottle in his hand. Then he looked at Xanos. "Er. Are we sure we wanna wake him up? He looks _real_ angry."

I lifted my arms and let my scale mail drop down onto my shoulders over my leather undercoat, wincing once again as the mail banged against my bruised back with a jingle that was just _way_ too merry. "We're sure, Deeks," I croaked, and twisted to pull the buckles on my armor taut. "We're not leaving him like that."

"Sorry, Boss."

"Don't be sorry, Deeks. Just be good." I cinched my vambraces around my wrists and did an impromptu little dance to get everything settled. Was it just me, or was the floor shaking a little? It must, I decided, have been me. My head still felt like it hadn't been put back on straight when Ashtara'd broken Shaundakul's little spell and re-embodied me. "All right," I said, and held out my hand for the potion. "How do we do this?"

As it turned out, the way we did it was by upending the contents of the bottle over Xanos's head. It kind of made me wonder why the potion brewer hadn't just slapped an, "Apply Directly to Forehead" label on the bottle. Teddy always labeled _his_ bottles, after all, though the print was so small and the warnings so rambling and Byzantine that I doubted any of his customers ever bothered to read them - much to their eventual regret.

The process of de-petrification was kind of fascinating. Color bled back into Xanos, slowly, like he'd just been splashed with a bucket of really thick paint.

When it was done, he stood there, standing perfectly still and staring blankly. It was a strange reaction, and my eyes unfocused, almost automatically, my sight delving beneath his skin to see what was wrong.

Five seconds later, I was blinking my second sight away, feeling a flicker of rising worry - the sorcerer's lungs weren't moving. Xanos wasn't even _breathing_.

Then, all at once, he sucked in a choked, gasping breath, like a man surfacing from a long underwater swim.

Then he collapsed.

I tried to catch him. "Shit! C'mon, Xanos, up you g-" My legs buckled under the dead weight of seven feet and I-don't-know-how-many pounds of half-orc, and then _I_ collapsed, crumpling to the ground under the inexorable downward pressure. "Okay," I wheezed. "Nevermind. Down you go. That's okay. Down is fine. We like down." I noticed, somewhat belatedly, that the sorcerer was quivering like a leaf in high winds, his skin was clammy, and his eyes were blank and unseeing. My worry blossomed into full-blown alarm. I wriggled out from under Xanos enough to get my arm free and to grab his chin, forcing him to look at me. "Xanos," I said, loudly and clearly. "You're okay. Relax. Can you hear me?"

The sorcerer's catlike yellow eyes blinked, once. They seemed to regain some focus.

Then he heaved himself away, falling to the floor next to me in an ungraceful heap of arms and legs and robes. "B-b-by all th-the b-bloody, f-f-festering p-pits of H-h-hell," he gasped fervently.

I sat up and half-leaned over the fallen sorcerer, wincing as I did so. Now my front felt as bruised as my back. The next time someone suggested to me that I should try catching a falling half-orc, I was going to have them drop a sack of bricks on me, instead. It would've hurt less. "Xanos," I said, interrupting his slurred, semi-coherent swearing. I slapped his cheek lightly, just enough to get his attention. "Look at me."

His head rolled towards me. I saw his eyes try to focus, and fail. "C-can't," he wheezed. "C-cannot s-s-see-"

"Uh. Okay. In that case…how many fingers am I holding up?"

He blinked owlishly. "Either…one v-very large finger…or…the w-whole hand. Xanos cannot…q-quite tell."

Deekin's voice interrupted us. "Uh. Boss?" he asked nervously.

I waved a distracted hand at Deekin. "Do you think you can stand?" I asked Xanos worriedly.

"D-do not…k-know." With an obvious effort, he curled upright. Then he kept bending, falling forward over his knees. "Bloody hells," he gasped. "Hells. On f-fire. I f-felt…my heart…it s-stopped beating…" He gave a strange shudder, his hands and fingers curling inward against his chest, and I looked into his unfocused yellow eyes and saw that they were blank with horror. "Just…s-stopped..." His breath hitched on something that was halfway between a growl and a sob. "Th-thrice d-damned snake-h-haired b-b-itch…"

Deekin cleared his throat. "Um. Boss?" he quavered. "Hey, Boss?"

I tuned him out. I'd heard somewhere that, if someone started having hysterics, you were supposed to slap them out of it. But, with the state Xanos was in, he'd probably react to a slap by setting my hair on fire first and asking questions later, and I couldn't even say that I'd blame him.

I hunkered down next to the half-orc, reaching to touch his shoulder with tentative fingertips. "Your heart's fine, Xanos," I told him. "I can see it beating," I said, and I _could_ see it, beating as fast and strong as ever. _Too fast,_ I thought. _He needs to calm down before he has a meltdown._ "You're okay. You're alive. You hear me? You're oka-"

Deekin's shriek broke through. " _Bo-oss!_ " he wailed plaintively. "We got company!"

I spun around so fast that I lost my balance and landed flat on my ass. "Wha-"

The word died on my lips.

A group of asabi were peering through the doorway I'd come through earlier. "You…you killed Ashtara?" one of them asked.

I considered whether or not to lie. Then I decided that there were very few situations in which honesty really was the best policy, and this wasn't one of them. "Who, me? Nope," I said brightly. "Found him like this. As far as I know, whoever killed him's still around," I added. "Maybe we'd all better skedaddle before they come after us, next. What do you say?"

They looked at each other. "Is she lying?" one asked.

"She smells like she is lying," another replied dubiously.

"Should we kill her?" the first one mused.

"If she killed Ashtara, she may be too dangerous for us," the third one argued.

"If we let her go, the _sarrukh_ will know," the first one countered.

One of the others considered this. "If the _sarrukh_ know we let a warm-blood kill Ashtara, they will exile us forever," he mused.

"Most likely." Then they all turned to look at me. "Hsst. You are right. We must kill her."

Then the asabi lifted their weapons. One of them had a crossbow. The others had spears or axes, and, as much as they'd cowered before Ashtara, they didn't seem all that worried about little old _me._

"Wait, what are you…shit!" I yelped. Panic yanked a spool of power up and out from its seat beneath my sternum, and I _reached_ , instinctively gathering up the currents of air from around and behind and above me, currents that I _knew_ were there, waiting. I could feel them like a whisper of silk against my skin.

Then I raised my hand and let the wind go with a wordless shout.

A blast of wind whipped through the dusty halls and slammed into the group of asabi. The air was dusty and stale, but it plowed into the lizardmen like a battering ram, which was all that mattered to me.

The lizards scattered all over the floor of the far corridor, exclaiming a lot of things which, with the thunder of blood in my ears, I couldn't quite understand. That was probably for the best.

I looked at Xanos, who was hunched over himself, looking haunted. I looked at Deekin, who'd dropped his crossbow and was backing away, his hands shaking.

Then I looked at the asabi, who were already regrouping.

"Shit," I said, and jumped to my feet, dropping Silent Partner with an unceremonious clatter. I looked around frantically, my eyes combing the room for something big and heavy enough to block the doorway. "Shit, shit, shit."

There was still that heavy oak table of Ashtara's in the middle of the room, not far from the door. I ran over to it in a few long lopes.

Then I heard the telltale click of a cocking crossbow. I yelped and ducked beneath the table. Something flew over my head. I was just glad that it had gone over my head rather than _through_ it. _Times like these, I guess you take what you can get,_ I thought dourly.

I gritted my teeth, braced my legs, and struggled to lift the table. I'd been a little optimistic. The thing was way too heavy. I'd never be able to move it fast enough to block the door with it.

I leaned into a crooked crouch, peering around the table's legs. One of the asabi was stepping through the doorway, Deekin had dropped his crossbow because his hands were shaking too hard to aim, Xanos was busy having hysterics, I'd rather stupidly left Silent Partner on the floor and didn't have time to go for it, and anyway I couldn't risk a fight when two out of three of us were so far out of commission, and fucking hell but I _really_ wished I were a whole lot stronger.

And then, a tingle rising in my throat once again, I wondered if I _could_ be. Stronger, that is. After all, the wind could lift an awful lot – hell, tornadoes could lift whole _houses_ \- and where else did my power come from but the wind?

I glanced over at Xanos. He was still lost in his own, nightmarish little world.

I bit my lip. "Okay," I said. "Okay. I can do this. Come on." Then, pushing everything else away, panic and worry and the ache in my throat and all, I closed my eyes, picturing a flickering green fire.

At the same time, I reached _in_ , diving into the ever-shifting tangle that I could feel pulsing in time with my heart.

It was different than all of the other stuff I'd done. Instead of letting the power out, I gathered it up and shoved it _down_.

I was pretty sure that all of my hair stood on end. A hot-and-cold rush of energy flooded my veins. It was like getting a second wind, only better.

I planted my feet and surged up explosively, levering my burden upwards with my legs – the legs that Torias liked so much, the legs that had seen so many countless hours of running over the hills and through the heavy mountain snow.

The table moved, rising up from the floor like Moby Dick from the ocean deep.

Another heave, and the table flew towards the doorway with a crash like a falling tree. There were a couple of meatier sounds amidst the crash of wood, and a few short, sharp screams from those asabi that had gotten their feet, so to speak, through the door.

I staggered forward, fighting for balance, trying not to topple. _No time,_ I thought, and saw the barricade shake under an insistent pounding. _No time…_

I lurched in a half-circle, gauging the state my friends were in. _Shit,_ I thought. Xanos was pretty thoroughly out of it, and Deekin was having quiet hysterics off in the corner, and while the asabi seemed to be having a smidgeon of trouble with my barricade, I was pretty sure that that state of affairs wouldn't last indefinitely.

I was the only person still standing. _Why_ was I the only person still standing? I wished that those two would pull themselves together enough to fight. I could _really_ have used the help.

 _Tough shit. You're on your own, girl,_ a pragmatic inner voice barked at me. _And there's no_ time _to have a freak-out_ …

Looked like I was just going to have to work with what I had.

 _Now, just what the hell_ do _I have?_ My eyes fell on Deekin. They narrowed in thought. "Deeks," I croaked. He didn't respond, and I moved to his side, crouching down somewhat painfully. "Deeks. Listen to me," I said. "I need your help."

That got him. He gulped, and looked up at me through swimming eyes. "W-what?"

I kept my voice as gentle and even as I could. "We need somewhere safe to hole up until Xanos pulls himself back together," I told the kobold, trying not to think of _whether_ the sorcerer would recover but _when_. I laid a hand on Deekin's scrawny shoulder, feeling him shake. "You're good at sniffing out hidey-holes, Deeks. I need you to find one for us now, before those asabi start chasing us. Can you do that?"

After another shiver, he settled down a little. He nodded. "Y-yeah," he stammered, and blinked. He straightened. "Deekin can do that. He can go invisible and find a safe place for Boss…"

"Good," I said, and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Then get going." I glanced over at Xanos. "We'll be right behind you," I added.

Deekin hesitated. "But…what if…what if the asabi get through? What if they tries to shoot us?" he asked uneasily.

"Then I'll be closer to them than you are, and you can run for it while they're all busy trying to turn _me_ into a pincushion." Amazingly, the prospect didn't even bother me all that much. Hell - I didn't have _time_ to worry about hypothetical future disasters. The _now_ and the _real_ were occupying all of my available attention.

"But-"

I _really_ didn't have the time for this. None of us did. "No buts, Deeks. I'm counting on you here." I looked down at his hesitant, wide-eyed expression. "Hey, you've already saved me, what, twice now?" I asked, more gently. "First with that gargoyle, and now with Ashtara." I made myself smile. "What about it, Deeks? Third time's the charm?"

He swallowed and nodded. "S-Sure," he said. Then his voice lost some of its quaver. "Yeah. You're right, Boss. Deekin not scared. Well…not much, anyway. Heroes got to be brave, right? Otherwise they not be heroes." Then he sang a few notes in his nasal voice, and he vanished. "Listen for Deekin's voice," I heard his whisper. "He tell you when it safe to come out."

I nodded, and then, as the kobold made his noiseless retreat, I crossed the room to Xano's side and knelt.

"Xanos," I said abruptly, trying to cut through the haze which seemed to have wrapped itself around the sorcerer's de-petrified brain. "Give me your hand. We've got to get out of here."

He took his hands away from his face and looked up, dazedly. "How-" he said hoarsely. Then he shook his head. "You cannot…"

"I can't carry you?" I finished his sentence for him. "Bullshit. Sure I can." I smiled at him. "You've carried _me_ out of enough bad places. Let me do the carrying, for once." Then I held out my hand. "Come on," I said brusquely. "Take my hand, and up you get."

The half-orc stared at my hand as if he'd never seen such a thing before. And then, after a long moment, he nodded and placed his hand in mine.

With surprisingly little effort, I hauled him to his feet and helped him to drape an arm around my shoulders. "Lean on me, and go where I go," I instructed, looping an arm around his back. "Don't worry. I'll try to keep you from walking into anything pointy."

He was heavy, but that didn't really matter. I was strong enough, now. Thanks to Shaundakul's little gift, I was stronger than I'd ever been.

Together, his footsteps faltering and my body aching with bruises, the sorcerer and I stepped out into the streets of Undrentide.


	49. Chapter 49

The entombed city of Undrentide groaned and trembled restlessly, as if dreaming of the days when it had lived in the sky.

We walked unsteadily through its vast and heaving streets, a pair of insect figures in the feeble glow cast by one of Deekin's magelights.

The streets were wide and smooth, paved with massive flagstones, a few of which were still perfectly flush. In some ways, they reminded me of home – straight as arrows and laid out in a gridlike pattern of regular, achingly familiar city blocks. I could have walked them blindfolded.

 _Paving's better than it is at home, though,_ I thought with a smirk, steering Xanos around a pile of rubble. Also, the buildings weren't nearly as tall, though the shadows were so thick it was hard to tell just how high the buildings went.

Looking at them more closely, I saw that many of the buildings in Undrentide were intact - bizarrely so. These were not made of glass and steel and concrete. These were made of brick and stone, and the remnants of brightly colored plaster, painted in complex geometric patterns, still clung to them in piebald patches.

Windows stared down at me blankly, their multi-colored panes casting strange reflections. Whole rows of unbroken roofs arched overhead, swallowed up the the far, dark reaches of the cavern that Undrentide had carved for itself when it had fallen, all those years ago.

In the distance, far above the roofs, I occasionally caught the telltale skyline glow of a tall, tall structure. Call it a tower or call it a skyscraper, but the way it lit up the darkness around it with a muted violet glow suggested that _something_ was still going on over there.

It reminded me of home. A lot of it reminded me of home, and I wondered what the Undrentide skyline would have looked like, thousands of years ago, when the city was still alive. Would it have lit the sky from horizon to horizon, the way my city did? What had the night skies of Netheril looked like, glittering with cities like a constellation of living stars?

Some people might say that cities didn't live. I knew better. They all had a pulse, a rhythm, a soul, but Undrentide had flat-lined long ago, and there was a strange sort of sadness lurking in its old, old bones.

Somewhere, something rumbled. A gust of gritty, sandy air blew past us. "Close your eyes," I told Xanos abruptly, and followed my own advice, squeezing my eyes shut and turning my face away to avoid being blinded by the stinging dust.

Then I felt the ground beneath my feet buckle, and I opened my eyes just in time to see a crack blossom right between my feet.

I went very still. Slowly, my eyes lifted, following the crack's path as it zigged and zagged away from me. Wherever it went, the flagstones split in half, popping like bottle rockets.

Once the shaking stopped, I swallowed, and stepped adroitly to one side, dragging Xanos with me. The new-formed crevasse wasn't that big, but I didn't see any point in taking my chances. "Fuck," I said, very quietly.

Then, before I could recover from the last shock, the wall of a house on the opposite side of the street blew out and gave me another one.

Bricks and mortar and plaster fountained sideways. Somewhere in the racket, I heard a screeching yell and a patter of frantic footsteps. It sounded awfully familiar.

"Intruder expelled from premises," intoned a deep, almost robotic voice. Heavy foodsteps dragged, as if turning in a circle. "Returning to station."

The footsteps receded. I licked my dry lips. "D-deeks?" I ventured hesitantly.

I heard a rustle. "Wow," the kobold's nasal voice came from somewhere off to my left. "Those golems gots really good eyesight. Deekin not even know _how_ they sees him."

Xanos's head turned, like that of a bloodhound who'd just scented a fox. "Golems?" he asked, an intrigued catch to his voice. "Of ancient Netheril? And the enchantments are still active? Fascinating…"

I dropped Silent Partner precipitously and wrapped my free arm around the half-orc's waist, so that my arms practically encircled him – at least, they would have if I'd been able to reach all the way around him. "Oh, no, you don't," I protested shrilly.

He didn't even look at me. "I wonder if the spells of animation might still be intact," he mused, taking another step forward and absent-mindedly dragging me along with him. "Hmm. This bears further study-"

It would have been a relief to see him halfway back to normal, if he wasn't busy herding me towards a gigantic hole in the wall where Deekin had just been kicked out of some dead wizard's house by a fucking big-ass _golem_. "Oh, _hell_ no," I said. "Step _away_ from the golem, Xanos-"

He blinked. Then he looked down at me, bemused. "But-"

"We are _not_ playing with the natives today," I ground out, my heels scraping against the cobbles as the half-orc drifted forward. I felt a sudden stab of sympathy for Nolan, for all those times he'd spent trying to wrangle an ox who barely even noticed the backwards pull on his harness. "Jesus, Xanos, could you have picked a worse time to go all inquisitive on me?"

That got him to pause. "And _you_ …are so tragically devoid…of intellectual curiousity…that it could make Xanos scream," he remarked, with some remnant of his usual bite.

I was so glad to hear it that I didn't even bother to get offended. "Yep. That's me," I said. "Now get your ass away from that golem, chop-chop."

"Sorry, Boss," Deekin commented. Claws scraped invisibly over the rubble-strewn street. "Deekin keep looking. There bound to be an empty house around here somewhere."

"Good," I said, and hooked Silent Partner off of the ground with the toe of my boot. "Try to find a house _without_ a golem or an asabi or a, a freakin' undead _army_ , next time."

"Will do, Boss."

The next house, Deekin reported, had a little spider problem, which actually turned out to be a _giant_ spider problem. Hairy, segmented legs waved in the windows. We retreated to the opposite side of the road and slogged on.

The one after that turned out to be enspelled against intruders. Deekin mentioned something about a maze. I stopped listening. I wondered if it would bring the whole city down on us if I just threw my head back and screamed, and whether the catharsis would be worth the risk.

We didn't have _time_ for this. We didn't even have the time to stop and let Heurodis keep on doing whatever it was she was doing, but Xanos was in no _shape_ to go much further without rest, and how the hell was it that in a ghost town like this there wasn't one safe place to hole up?

I heard the returning scuff of Deekin's feet. "Tell me that one's okay, Deeks," I pleaded.

"Er. O-kay, Boss."

I blinked. "Really?"

"Well, uh, no. Not really. There be a ghost in it, and it not seem happy. Sorry."

I ground my teeth. "Then why did you _say_ it was okay?"

"Because you told me to?" I heard a pause, which was followed by: "O-kay. Uh. Deekin gonna go away now."

Xanos looked at my face. "Wise decision, lizard," he rumbled. To me, he added, "Are you certain…you do not need…a new pair of boots?"

I looked back up at the half-orc. "Is it that obvious what I'm thinking?" I murmured in dismay.

The sorcerer's smirk widened, turned into a weary chuckle. "Let us just say…that if looks could kill…you need only practice that one…and you will have nothing to fear…from Heurodis."

I blinked. "Did I really look that mean?" I marveled.

The sorcerer snorted softly. "No," he said. "Xanos would say that it was more...crazed." He paused thoughtfully. "Diabolical," he added. "Bloodthirsty. Like...a witch of the Grey Wastes...who has spied a particularly tasty soul...and is contemplating whether...to devour it outright...or boil it in her cauldron first-"

"All right, all right, you've made your point. I get it. You can shut up now," I interrupted grouchily. Then I blinked again. I was, in spite of myself, almost flattered. "Wow," I said then. "I had no idea that I had that effect on people."

He slanted me an odd look. "Xanos…is not certain…whether that makes you less terrifying…or more so," he muttered.

 _Terrifying?_ I mouthed the word, thoroughly perplexed. I'd been called a lot of things in my time, but _terrifying?_ That was right up there with _holy,_ as far as unlikely epithets went.

Then a shrill whistle shattered the quiet.

"Hey, Boss!" Deekin called. "I think I found something!"

The house was grey with dust and filled to the brim with books.

The bookshelves – those not riddled with dry rot – were crammed, and the floor was littered with piles of crumpled paper and broken bindings, with the occasional intact book in the detritus.

"Deekin thinks maybe a wizard lived here," the kobold observed cheerily. "What you think, Boss?"

"Of course a wizard lived here, you blithering imbecile," Xanos growled. "Netheril was…a _nation_ of scholars. Magical training…was mandatory."

"For whatever good it did them," I murmured. I touched one of the books as I passed. With a puff of dust, the binding came loose in my fingers and fell to the floor, where it broke into several pieces, along with the first fifty or so pages. "Uh. Oops. I hope that wasn't important-"

A wince of what could only be described as irate agony crossed Xanos's face. "The knowledge it contained…was most likely priceless…beyond all measure," he said from between clenched teeth.

"All right, all right. I won't touch anything else. Don't get your panties in a knot," I grumbled, leading Xanos over to the most stable-seeming wall. "Here," I said, slipping his arm from around my shoulders and helping him to lower himself to the ground. "Sit. How do you feel?"

The sorcerer half-fell, half-sank down against the wall. "Never better," he said shortly.

I looked at him. "All right," I said evenly. Arguing with him would have been a waste of breath. As long as he was willing to also stay put until his body figured out that it wasn't made out of stone anymore and got its act together, he could keep his pride. Hell, he could claim that he was shitting rainbows and pissing unicorns, for all I cared, just as long as he got better.

I turned to Deekin, who'd dropped into a loose, gangly crouch and was watching us with bright-eyed interest. "What else is in here?" I asked. "Anything useful?"

The kobold hesitated. "Aside from books?" he asked. I nodded. "Er, not really, but..." He lifted a skinny arm and pointed. "There be something in that room over there," he said. "But, uh…you probably not wanna go in there, Boss."

I followed the track of his pointing finger to the mouth of a darkened doorway. "Why?" I asked slowly. I took a cautious half-step forward. "What's in there?"

The kobold tapped his foreclaws together nervously. "Bad juju," he said at last. "Seriously bad juju."

I gave him another look, over my shoulder. Then I looked back at the doorway. It was like looking over a cliff, feeling the void suck at you and wondering what it would be like to just let go and fall.

I took a deep breath. Suddenly, I was angry. I'd been through too much to be afraid of the goddamned _dark._

Crisply, I stepped through the entryway, my head turning this way and that, taking it in.

It was a small room. There was a stone table at its center. It was small and wreathed in boiling black, bitter and choking. _An altar,_ I thought.

I crossed the threshold, my eyes falling, automatically, on the altar. There was an object resting on its face.

And then, like a flock of ravens, the shadows split apart and flew into me, sharp-winged and _hungry_.

Sensation screamed through my brain. _Death._ Cold without end. _Pain_ , in a pretty lacework of blood, and after it came pleasure, and _power,_ the heads of enemies bowing, bones cracked, marrow sucked out, souls tangled up in spiderweb plots and torn apart like shattered glass and it was great and terrible and grotesque and yet so exquisite in its black, arrogant precision-

And then there was warmth, a tingle of life under my hand, and an ozone crackle that sent me reeling away, wrenching my eyes from the dreadful, hypnotic dark.

I lurched back into the other room, panting. Silent Partner hummed in my hands. I'd brought it up, battle-ready, without even realizing it.

For a moment, I just stood there, blinking in the light and clutching the quarterstaff to me like a lifeline.

I had no idea what the hell had just happened, except that it had probably been bad.

Xanos half-rose. "What in the Hells possessed you-" he barked.

I looked at him. "Don't go in there," I croaked.

Then I staggered over to where he sat and sank down next to him, shakily. My legs didn't seem to be working, and the way the ground kept shaking didn't help matters. "Thanks for the warning, Deeks," I said. My flask was already in my hands. I didn't know how it had gotten there. Didn't care. I took a long swig, drinking until I was warm again and my eyes were watering. I took the flask away from my lips. "Kick me in the kneecap the next time I ignore you," I added.

The kobold stopped his rummaging in the bookcases to look over his shoulder at me. He blinked mildly. "Uh. O-kay. If Boss says so." He turned back to the bookcase, cocking his head at one tattered volume in particular. I watched as, carefully, the little bard pulled the book out and opened it, flipping through the pages as gently as if they were made of spidersilk and moonbeams – which, hell, they might even have been, knowing these Netherese. "Hey, Boss," Deekin called. "You might wanna look at this."

I wasn't about to get back up again. Not with the way all of the strength seemed to have left my legs. "Bring it here," I said.

The kobold trotted over and held the book out, pointing to a spot on the page with one talon-tipped finger. "Deekin not really speak good Netherese," he said. "But doesn't this word mean 'mythallar'?" he asked.

Xanos looked up. He squinted. "Yes," he said after the briefest of pauses. His eyes narrowed. "It does."

Deekin looked at the half-orc tentatively. "You think the book might help us figure out how to stop snake-lady?" he ventured.

The sorcerer snorted. "There is no such thing as useless knowledge," he proclaimed.

I looked at him sidelong. "You're the scholar around here," I said. "Can you translate it?"

A shadow of the sorcerer's old hauteur appeared in his eyes. "Naturally," he sneered. "Only give me an hour….and the wisdom of the ancients…will be laid bare."

"Good." I gestured for Deekin to hand the book over to the sorcerer, which he did, the both of them treating it as gently as if it were a baby. For my part, I leaned back and downed another mouthful of whiskey. "Let me know if you find anything." I caught Xanos looking at me disapprovingly, and turned my head to raise my eyebrows at him. "What?"

The sorcerer glared at the flask in my hands. "We are trapped in an ancient Netherese city, with a power-crazed medusa…attempting to revive spells…which are too decayed to function…and somehow…we must stop her…before she crashes this city a second time," he said scathingly, "And you consider it _wise_ to sit here and pickle your wits like that?"

I raised my flask to him. "Can't think of a better time," I said. I took another drink, ignoring the look of censure on his face. "Besides, if we don't stop Heurodis, my liver'll be the last of my problems. Might as well enjoy a good drink while I still can."

Xanos stared at me for a very long moment. Expressions chased one another across his face, too quick to trace.

Then he looked away abruptly. "You were safe," he said. "Xanos…saw. _She_ could not…do to you…what she did to Xanos."

I paused. Then I shrugged. "Yeah," I said. "So?"

He was still looking away. He settled the book in his lap, his big fingers smoothing the pages with a delicacy that was startling, given their size. "So why did you not go, when you still had the chance?" he asked quietly.

I froze, like a deer in headlights. A mish-mash of answers rose to the tip of my tongue. _Because_ , I almost said. _Because you act like an asshole because you expect everyone to think you're one anyway but you aren't really and I think you're the closest thing to a true friend I've ever had in my whole miserable life, and if I'd left you like that I wouldn't have deserved to live anyway…_

…I thought, but didn't say, because I couldn't seem to get the words out.

So I swallowed another burning mouthful of whiskey, hoped that Xanos would hear what I meant and not what came out of my mouth, and I said, "Because you made a really ugly statue."

The half-orc's head swiveled. Surprise flashed over his face. Then, weakly, he began to laugh. "What a strange reason…to choose to die," he remarked.

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I've heard of stranger," I said.

His laughter trailed off. "Yes," he said. He looked away again. "What Drogan did…it is difficult for me to understand," he said suddenly.

I'd been trying very, very hard not to think of that. For some reason, though, now that my initial rage had exhausted itself, my eyes were dry, and the reality of Drogan's death it hadn't really sunk in – not yet. It had been that way right after dad died, too. Some emotions apparently needed to build up a good head of steam before they came and knocked you flat on your ass. "Yeah," I said. "Me, too."

"He gave his life…for us," the sorcerer went on, hardly seeming to hear me, tangled as he was in his own thoughts. "For me. Why? So that we could follow Heurodis…stop her…but how? It is…not so clear. Xanos used to think…he was prepared for this…but now…now, nothing is so clear, is it?" The sorcerer's words came slowly, as if he was fishing them out of some very deep, dark place, one by one. His fingers plucked at the hem of his robes. They were looking a little frayed, after all they'd been through. "Drogan said some things…"

I remembered. "He said you were a good man at heart," I said, very quietly. "He said you were like a son to him."

The sorcerer turned his face further away. I saw his throat move as he swallowed convulsively. "Why…would he say such a thing?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I stared into the mouth of my flask. My eyes blurred. I drank. "Because it's true," I said, and looked up. The half-orc's head had snapped around, and he was looking at me as if he'd never seen me before, but I was so tired and the liquor had my tongue and what was the point in not saying it, anyway? Drogan hadn't said it, not 'till the end, and that hadn't helped anyone, now had it? "You're okay, Xanos," I went on, and _this_ time the words in my head matched the ones on my tongue. "Kind of fucked up in the head, sometimes. But, hey, who isn't?"

Xanos studied me pensively. "The dwarf said…that you were like a daughter to him, too," he observed carefully. "Both of us…the children he never had."

I swung my flask back and forth between my fingers. Damned thing was getting low, and I doubted that I was going to find any two-thousand-year-old hooch anywhere around here. _Screw it,_ I thought, and tipped the flask up again. With my luck, this'd be my last time to get drunk in this lifetime, anyway. Might as well make the most of it. "Yeah," I croaked. "He did."

The half-orc's expression turned weirdly speculative. "I suppose, then…to follow his words to their logical conclusion," he mused, "…this would make us…brother and sister. So to speak."

I blinked, and lifted my head to meet the sorcerer's strange golden eyes. "Damn. You're right," I said, and smiled weakly. There was a lump in my throat. "So…if Drogan was our dad…who do you think our mother was?"

One corner of his lips twitched upwards. The tentative look in his eyes had been replaced by something almost…soft. "Xanos does not know," he said. His lips pursed in thought. "But she must have been a very, _very_ strange woman," he added.

We looked at each other. And then – weakly, tinged with hysteria and relief and wrapped up in all of the words that neither of us were really equipped say, but maybe, just maybe, the both of us could hear – my big, green brother and I leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder, and laughed like the lunatics we probably were.


	50. Chapter 50

It was later. I was drunk.

Not _badly_ drunk, mind you. Really, I was closer to loopy than all-out blitzed. I knew this, because I could still stand up.

Xanos was asleep. It was easy to tell, even for someone who was maybe a sheet-and-a-quarter to the wind, because his snoring filled the parlor of our commandeered house like a chainsaw cutting through gravel.

He'd fallen asleep sitting up, with the Netherese book on mythallars still open on his lap. I didn't remove it. As uncomfortable as the half-orc's sleeping position looked to me, I didn't want to accidentally disintegrate a priceless historical artifact. Again. Besides, he needed his rest.

On the opposite side of the room, Deekin had curled up into a fetal position, and slept with his arms wrapped around his shins and his head tucked between his knees. Against all odds, he seemed comfortable this way. Maybe kobolds were more flexible than humans. Or maybe Deekin just liked sleeping in weird positions. I'd never really given it much thought.

I was aware that I was thinking a little strangely. It had been a very long day, which only promised to get longer, and I was tired, and the circumstances were nothing if not odd, and my head was spinning gently, like a slow-motion top.

Awkwardly, I clambered to my feet. Spinning head or no spinning head, I couldn't sit still. There was too much going on _in_ my head. Or maybe there was too little - as my college transcripts could probably attest - but it was making a _hell_ of a lot of noise.

I probably, I decided, shouldn't have drunk _all_ of the whiskey. It had been a while since I'd drunk the equivalent of half a bottle, all by myself. I was obviously out of practice.

 _Gonna have to find Magda when I get out of here,_ I thought hazily. _Dorna, too, maybe. Have a girls' night out…for about, oh, six weeks._

I paused. What was I thinking? The first thing I was going to do when I got out of this place was to find a portal and go straight home, leave all of this madness behind.

My eyes, inexplicably, fell on the two sleeping figures who were sharing the room with me. _So…am I leaving them, too?_ I asked myself. For once, I didn't have a snippy retort, not even for myself.

I turned abruptly. _They'll understand,_ I told myself. _I'll leave a note, explain myself. It's nothing personal. I just don't belong here. They'll understand._

Except…

Except that, realistically, I probably wasn't going to get out of Undrentide. Maybe. Hell, I didn't know. Heurodis was one seriously nasty bitch.

 _Yeah? Well, so am I,_ I retorted silently. I turned, wobbled, and paced in the other direction. My eyes fell on the dark doorway at the far end of the parlor. I tore them away. _I'm a Blumenthal,_ continued my rambling inner monologue. _A Blumenthal in the wrong fucking place, wrong fucking_ world, _but I'm so in touch with my inner bitch, she's practically_ outer _._

Maybe I'd deserved Lois. Karma'd ordered a wicked stepmother for an equally wicked stepdaughter. After all, I'd done some shitty things in my time. I'd lied, and I'd cheated, and I'd aided and abetted things I knew were wrong, and I'd sliced people's reputations to ruins with a word, sometimes for no other reason than the fact that I _could_.

Maybe it was cosmic justice that more or less the same thing had happened to me, in the end. Or maybe it was just my own blunders, come back to bite me in the ass.

I'd killed people, too. J'Nah, anyway, and that man in the oasis, I never did get his name…

 _He was gonna die anyway,_ I argued with myself. He'd probably had a few more hours, and those would've been spent in agony.

 _Yeah. But I killed him first,_ I retorted. What right had I had, to deny anyone those few hours? It was his decision, not mine, and I didn't want that kind of power or responsibility - the power to decide who lived and who died, and when. I'd never wanted that. Mostly, I'd just wanted to be left alone, to wander as I wanted and do what I _could_ , rather than keep futilely trying to do what I couldn't and be what I wasn't.

No _Blumenthal_ name to live up to. No goddamned _expectations_. Nothing but me and the road and the open sky. _That's_ what I'd always wanted, though it'd taken the destruction of my old life and the interference of a very nosy god to help me remember it.

And now, of course, there was Drogan to add to the tally of guilt and failure. Maybe I hadn't killed him, but, like Xanos had said…the old wizard had died so that we could live.

Drogan'd died so that I could sit in Undrentide, get drunk, and brood.

 _Shit._ Karma was right. I really did deserve whatever was going to happen to me.

Then again…I'd healed people, too, and I'd tried to help where I thought I could, even if it didn't always work out the way I wanted it to. That had to count for something, didn't it? Didn't it balance the scales, even a little?

I stopped pacing. Then I realized that I'd stopped right in front of that damned door.

The pull of it wasn't gone. If anything, in my tipsy state, it was even stronger.

I reached into my hip pocket, nervously jingling a handful of heavy silver chain in my hand.

Shaundakul's amulet was pleasantly cool to the touch. It always was, somehow, no matter how much time it spent in my pocket. It was, I figured, just one of those god-things. Miracles. Whatever.

Without really knowing what I was doing, I took a step towards the door. Then I took another. And another.

Sound seemed muffled, in that room, and the altar stood there in the center, just a hunk of graceless, mouldering stone. It was irrational, but I almost felt like I was being watched.

Tentatively, I took another step. No black cloud rose from the altar. No screams hooked me into a waking nightmare. Nothing.

I jingled the holy symbol in my pocket and stepped closer, peering at the altar.

There were dark streaks running down the sides of it, and shadows clung to the stone, thick as clotted blood.

It seemed like something that I should find unquestionably repulsive. And I did. But I also found it fascinating. It was like looking at a traffic accident, like a murder scene – gory and terrible, but a part of me just couldn't look away.

 _Good and evil. Evil and good._ It all seemed like a pointless exercise in abstractions, to me. I knew just how easy it was to obfuscate, to make night look like day without actually changing the substance of it – just change the words, change people's perceptions, and what was real would seem such an insignificant thing next to what was _believed_.

 _So what do you believe, Rebecca?_ whispered my own voice, inside my own head. _Don't talk to me about good and evil…that's just bullshit, rhetoric for the crusader crew, and no one's ever just one or the other. You know better than that._

 _What do_ you _believe?_

There was something on the altar. I stepped closer, Shaundakul's amulet clutched in my right hand so hard that the edges were pressed flush against my skin.

The thing on the altar was a reddish chunk of rock, or something like it. It was hard and shriveled, like someone had taken a thin sheet of red marble and crumpled it like paper and left it on this altar for no discernable reason.

I reached out with my left hand, seemingly of my own volition. My hand hovered above the thing. It radiated heat, like a lump of coal, but it was an inert thing, dead. Wasn't it?

 _Curiousity killed the cat,_ I thought, and my fingers closed over it.

Almost instantly, I felt a burning, scorpion sting pierce my palm.

It _hurt,_ and I yelped, flinging the creepy lump of whatever-the-hell-it-was away from me.

It hit the floor with a far-off boom that sounded way too heavy for such a small thing.

And then it stayed there – inert. Dead. Except that the pain in my hand was getting worse by the second, and I was pretty sure Drogan would have mentioned it if the rocks in this world went around _biting_ people.

I backed away, cradling my hand to my chest, my breath seething between my teeth.

Cautiously, I pried open my palm – and stared. There was a hole in my palm, a pinprick that was welling with a fat bead of blood, and in it…

…in it was an equally fat sliver, a jagged splinter of red that sank out of sight as I watched, worming its way beneath my skin.

I blinked. I lifted my other hand. Shaundakul's holy symbol glinted up at me, a tangle of cool silver in my palm.

 _What do you believe?_ I mused.

Then I thought: _Well, right now I believe that only a total goddamned moron goes around playing with strange altars._ Also, I believed that I'd better get those splinters out, before they gave me blood poisoning or tetanus or AIDS or something. _That,_ at this moment, was what I believed.

I turned my eyes back to the other hand and focused. Skin became muscle, became bone, became blood, and I _saw_ the splinter, a center of diseased heat travelling up towards my wrist, painting pain in its path.

A gentle tingle unraveled in my chest.

Softly, I breathed in, and the air whispered through my veins like a cool autumn breeze.

The diseased heat faded, subsumed by a pale blue glow. The infection reversed its course, pushed out by the rush of power through my blood. The pain faded.

Eventually, I let go of the breath and shook my hand. The splinter fell to the floor.

I heard a soft, scraping footstep. "Boss?" Deekin asked tentatively. "What you doing in here?"

I turned around. "I do some seriously stupid shit sometimes, don't I?" I asked conversationally.

The kobold blinked and cocked his head. "Uh," he said. "Deekin gots to answer that now, or can he get back to you later?"

I felt my lips curve into a smile. "How much later are we talking about, here?" I asked.

"Er." He considered that thoughtfully. "Way, way later?" he offered hopefully.

I laughed. Unsteadily, I walked away from the altar, letting my uninjured hand drop gently to the kobold's head. I laid it there, briefly, feeling the reassuring rasp of his scales against my skin. "You're a very sneaky person, Deeks. You know that?"

He grinned up at me. "So are you, Boss," he returned cheerfully. Then his expression turned bashful. "But, uh…don't worry. Deekin still likes you."

Good and evil. Evil and good. Which was which, and which was I, and did any of it really mean anything, anyway?

 _I am what I am,_ I decided at last _._ And, whatever that was, at least it wasn't Heurodis.

My smile widened. "I like you too, Deeks," I said warmly. Then I dropped my hand to his back and ushered him away from the door, the chain of my holy symbol jingling softly between my fingers.


	51. Chapter 51

The Tower of the Winds was at the center of the city, and the mythal was at the center of the Tower…

"And Heurodis is within the mythal, summoning the power of the mythallar," Xanos said, carefully pocketing the precious little book. "While the mythal is active, the Tower will be warded against entry. According to this, however, there are three artifacts within the city which are keyed to the Tower's ward, to be used to access the mythal in the event of an emergency-"

I stared at him blankly. "Wait, wait. Back up a minute," I said. "What the hell's a mythal?"

He gave me a long-suffering, positively _despondent_ stare. "Black God's _Balls,_ woman. We have just gone over this-"

"Well, I didn't get it the first time. Try again."

Deekin piped up. "It be the magic thingie you put the mythallar into to make the city fly, Boss."

I blinked. "Oh!" I said in sudden comprehension. "Well, why didn't you just say that in the first place?

The sorcerer's palm made an audible smacking sound when it hit his forehead. "I _did,_ " he growled, with a kind of manic despair. "Obviously, Xanos should have used shorter words and simpler sentences. _Much_ shorter words," he added in a mutter. "Or perhaps he should have simply drawn a diagram, with numbered parts…"

"Gee, thanks."

"…and beaten you over the _head_ with it. Gods' Eyes, woman, you are a disgrace to your noble blood-"

"Hey! Don't you bring my family into this-"

Deekin cleared his throat. "Uh, guys?" he ventured diffidently. "Can we maybe get on with it? You know…chop-chop? Skedaddle? Vamoose?"

Xanos scowled. "Now even the damned _lizard_ is picking up your incomprehensible speech patterns," he grumbled.

"He's a quick learner," I said blithely. I shared a conspiratorial grin with Deekin. "Well, you heard the boy, my brother. Let's skedaddle."

We moved through the dead streets, Deekin scurrying ahead of us to scout for danger, as had become his habit.

It was surprisingly easy for me to move through the city. There was a rhythm to it, an arterial flow that stemmed from an urban heartbeat, even in these desolate streets. It was familiar to me. All I had to do was stop thinking and follow my gut – and, as Xanos might say, _not thinking_ was an act that came to me as naturally as breathing.

We found the Arcanist's Tower first, a practically origami-like building, all odd angles and strange protrusions, and the only thing stranger than the outside was the _inside._

The inside of the Arcanist's Tower reminded me of an Escher painting. There were twisted stairs to nowhere, and hallways that led into a shadowy otherworld and back out again. Xanos said that it used to be a school, and there _was_ a certain classroom-ey component to some of the spaces – as long as you ignored the bottomless drop at the edges of the some of the floors. I wondered if that was where the professors used to dispose of sub-par students. Then I shuddered, and decided not to think about it.

We climbed – carefully - to the top, Deekin's eyes helping us to skirt the things that lurked in the gloom, and we found the Dark Wind wandering in a corridor where the shadows loomed even darker and deeper than all the rest.

I couldn't see very much, though I could hear the telltale howl and hum of the wind, echoing as if trapped in some space that was far too small for it. "Hey, Deeks," I called.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Let there be light."

And then there was light, in the form of a twinkling blue sphere that shone between the kobold's skinny hands like a beacon. And it was damned helpful.

The Dark Wind was a compact sphere of air above a decayed dais, a tight-spinning cyclone as dense as a black hole.

Xanos and I stood, looking up at it. "Well?" the sorcerer asked. "We have found it. What now?"

 _"Call the storm, my fierce little falcon,"_ Shaundakul whispered in the vaults of my mind. _"It will heed."_

I leaned on Silent Partner and lifted my free hand, palm up. Shaundakul's gift fizzed in my veins like a good champagne. "Hey, you," I called to the Dark Wind. "C'mere."

It settled on my palm, not so much like a bird as like a lead bearing. Nevertheless, I had it, and that was what was important.

Deekin wrinkled his snout critically, his quill held almost daintily between his forefinger and thumb. He'd holstered his crossbow, and was balancing a sheaf of papers in his free hand, instead. "That wasn't a very epic quote, Boss," he said disapprovingly. "C'mon. Work with Deekin, here."

"Sorry, Deeks."

He shrugged his scrawny shoulders. "Don't be," he said easily. "Deekin can always make something up later. Er. You not mind if Deekin takes some artistic license, right, Boss?"

Xanos snickered. I'd have flipped him off, but I had my hands full.

We left, climbing back down the way we had come. The Dark Wind whispered along at my heels like a weird, shadowy hound.

Next came the city mausoleum.

Contrary to my expectations, but according to Xanos's and Deekin's, there were still a few residents lingering there.

A ring of skeletons surrounded us before we'd gotten much further than the reception hall. We huddled, back to back, wearing varying expressions of consternation and annoyance.

I sidestepped the swipe of an axe, jammed Silent Partner's butt-end into a skeleton's ribcage, and jerked the other end to the side with both hands. After however-many-thousand years of undeath, the thing's bones were brittle, and they snapped like twigs. It collapsed. "I _hate_ the undead," I muttered.

Xanos snapped his fingers and pointed imperiously. A spark of green fire lit at his fingertips and sped off into an approaching group of zombies, which exploded. "Xanos hates this city," he growled.

Deekin huddled near my leg, scribbling frantically. "Deekin hates this quill," he mumbled, shaking the quill in question vigorously. "It almost be out of ink."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that ink probably wouldn't matter where the three of us were going, anyway. _Let him write, if it makes him happy,_ I thought. _Let him think someone's going to remember us when this is done._ For my part, I just tried not to think about it. At all. It wasn't as if we had any other options, anyway, aside from sitting down, putting our heads between our knees, and waiting for Heurodis to come down on us like a really ugly hammer.

The Dead Wind was waiting for us, a vortex of sucking emptiness at the heart of the complex.

I studied it with my second sight. It was an ugly thing, but it was still a thing of the wind and air. I thought I knew how to call it.

I beckoned to it. "Come," I said, the pop and fizz of power on my tongue shaping the word into a command.

The Dead Wind drifted to me obediently, settling into my hand with a buzzing like a swarm of hungry flies.

The quaking of the city was getting worse. Now and then, I saw a shaft of light break through from the distant ceiling, motes of dust dancing in the sunlight as if celebrating its long-anticipated return.

The library of Undrentide was a building decorated with listing columns and broken statuary. Most of the carved figures were wearing robes and doing complicated things with wands and scrolls.

Deekin hopped across a growing crack in the street. "You think there gonna be books in there?" he asked eagerly.

"It is a _library_ , you idiot lizard," Xanos growled. His eyes narrowed, and his hand snapped up. A falling chunk of sandstone changed direction by about ninety degrees, bouncing away from him as if thrown. "Why do you persist in irritating Xanos by asking such idiot questions? Of course there will be books!"

There were, in fact, books. Deekin crammed them into his capacious blue rucksack as we went, even though most of them were faded to the point of illegibility and almost none of them were still in their bindings.

We slogged through the dust-choked air until we reached the center, where we found a room that would have been empty if someone hadn't left a pedestal smack in the middle of it.

There was a book on the pedestal. We all leaned over it - at least, Xanos and I did. Deekin had to stand on tiptoe to read it. "Hey, what be this-" he began.

Then the world blurred, and I felt like someone had just sunk a hook into my midsection and yanked me sharply, about three feet and two worlds to the left.

When my vision cleared again, we were in a forest clearing. Owls hooted. Far away, wolves howled.

I looked around, my skin crawling. It was, I thought, a good thing my system had just about gone numb to these kinds of shocks. Otherwise, I'd have already been on the ground, having a noisy bout of hysterics. "Have I mentioned lately how much I hate magic?" I asked meditatively.

Xanos crossed his arms and glared down at the kobold. "If we are trapped here," he said. "Xanos is feeding _you_ to those wolves."

Deekin waved his skinny arms. "Don't worry," he reassured us. "It all under control. Er…sort of."

For lack of anything better to do, we followed a path that had been cleared through the trees.

There was a man waiting in the next clearing. He walked with a limp, and his eyes didn't focus, though his head turned when we approached.

He didn't talk to us, though. Not directly. He seemed to be keeping to some kind of script.

He wrung his hands. "Jendra, sweet Jendra you are gone!" he cried. "Betrayed by kin and clan and I, your William, I can do nothing more for you than weep!" He struck a tragic pose. "O gods, thy names art Cruelty and Injustice!"

The appalled curl of Xanos's lip spoke volumes. "What," he said, "In the nine bloody buggering _H_ _ells_ have we walked into?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that we just walked into the middle of a really bad play," I mused.

Deekin tugged urgently at my sleeve. "Psst, Boss! Hey, Boss!" he hissed. "Deekin knows where we are! We're in the story!"

I looked down at him. "What, you mean we're actually _in_ the book?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together eagerly. "Deekin read lots of stories like this before. It really sweet. This looks like it about the blind beggar boy and his lady love-"

"Well, that explains the terrible dialogue."

The look Deekin gave me was full of pity. "Pfft," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You not got a romantic bone in your body, Boss."

It occurred to me to wonder just what a kobold knew about romance. And then, just as quickly as the thought had appeared, I shunted it away again so fast that I probably sprained something in my brain. "Sorry, Deeks," I said weakly. "I guess we'll have to depend on you to get us out of here, then."

"Oh, well, _that_ be easy," the kobold said breezily. "We just got to follow the story to its end. Come on!" he added, with a dramatic sweep of his hand. "Follow Deekin, noble heroes! Huzzah!"

The trail led us to a temple, led us to an altar, led us to a girl who lay sprawled there in a tumble of bloody silks and dying ash.

I knelt by her side. Her eyes were wide and staring. They had been blue, rimmed with ash-gold lashes – pretty eyes, I thought. It was a pity they were dead.

It was also a pity that I was getting so used to seeing corpses that I could look at this one without dry heaving or even freaking out very much. "This ending's not a very happy one, Deeks," I said quietly. I tried to tell myself that the dead girl was just an imaginary person – that all of this was no more than an elaborate illusion. It didn't help.

Deekin fiddled with his quill. "That…that not how it supposed to go," he murmured. He blinked his beady black eyes, dismayed. "That not how it supposed to go at _all_."

Because there was really nothing we could do, we moved on nervously, searching for a way out of our accidental literary foray.

Behind the altar lay a small, cramped chamber. In it was another book, which led us straight to Hell.

Granted, it was only a little slice of Hell, an island of basalt in a lake of lava. And it wasn't real – I kept having to remind myself of that. We'd stepped into a _book,_ and none of this was _real._

There was a man at the island's heart, battered and bloody. His head lifted as we approached, and his eyes burned in his pale face.

"So. More tormentors, is it?" he asked us with a twisted smile. He raised his wrists, as if they bore manacles, but there was nothing on them – at least, nothing that I could see. "Have you come to spit on the once-great Karsus, and write my name in the annals of infamy?"

I looked into his eyes. They were utterly sane, in the way that a man might be if he'd been sunk so far and so long into madness that, underneath all of that pressure, his sanity had crystallized into something as cold and sharp as a diamond. "Why would I want to do that?" I asked him warily.

He looked back at me. "I have caused the deaths of millions," he said. "Is that not enough?"

And then he lifted his hands to the rattle of chains that weren't there, and across his hands there appeared a page, the writing thickly scabbed and red as rust.

"Here it is," said the once-great Karsus. "My confession. Read it, and know the nature of my crime."

I met his eyes. And then, leaning forward, I read it, and I knew where his madness had gone. That was no parchment he held, but skin, still warm to the touch. Karsus had carved his madness into his own flesh.

When I opened my eyes again, I was looking at a ceiling that was, despite the way it groaned and heaved and rained flakes of gilt down on my face, almost blessedly normal by comparison.

Dust crawled up my nose. I sneezed. I sat up, my hair falling into my face. "That," I said. "Was really unpleasant."

Xanos stared down at me. His face was pale and troubled. "So that is why Netheril fell," he whispered.

I looked up at him. "Tou read it, too?" I asked.

Deekin swallowed. "So did Deekin," he said in a very small voice. "Though now he kinda wish he hadn't."

Xanos seemed not to hear us. "Karsus thought himself the equal of the gods," he said, his voice hollow. "And, in his presumption, he cast a spell which disrupted the Weave and brought the whole world to the brink of ruin."

I pushed myself to my feet, tried to brush myself off. "He wrote that he wanted to see the soul of the world," I argued. I didn't like the look in Xanos's eyes. He looked like _he'd_ looked into the soul of the world, and it hadn't been a pretty sight. "He didn't know what would happen."

He was already shaking his head. "No," he said. "Ignorance is never an excuse. And, when one compounds it with hubris…" He turned away, picking an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve. "Xanos…has sought perfection," he said at last. "In his power, in his art…he sought to eradicate every flaw, every weakness, and yet…"

 _Ah._ I'd been wrong. Xanos hadn't looked into the soul of the world. He'd looked into his own, which I could have told him was _never_ a good idea. "And yet?" I prompted quietly.

He laughed shortly, bitterly. "And yet, it seems that that very ambition was fatally flawed from the start," he replied. "Because Xanos did not consider the pitfalls of _pride_."

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, grimacing at the way the filthy tangles pulled at my fingers. I'd have killed for a bath, but that wasn't forthcoming. The only consolation was that everyone else was as dirty as I was. "Nobody's perfect, Xanos," I told him bluntly. "The world isn't, so we can't be. And anybody who tells you differently is trying to sell you something."

He leveled a long, bleak stare at me. "Why bother to reach, then, if perfection is forever out of my grasp?" he snapped, and spun away. "Bah! This is futile…"

Deekin was sitting with his hands clasped around his bony knees. He was chewing on the edge of his quill. "Deekin not like the way either of those stories end," he complained. "The pretty girl died in the first one, and her peasant boy never got to be a knight, like he wanted. That not right."

I glanced over at the book. The pages were covered with crabbed writing. "So rewrite it," I suggested. "You have a pen…uh, quill. You have ink. You're a bard. What's the problem?"

The kobold blinked and perked up. "You think Deekin can make it better?" he asked hopefully.

I lifted my shoulders in a careless shrug. "I think it can't hurt to try," I said.

The kobold's expression turned thoughtful. He toyed with the quill, flipping it back and forth in his nimble fingers. "Yeah," he said at last, and hopped to his feet, suddenly eager. He hurried over to the book, standing on his tiptoes to see the pages. "Deekin write it the right way, this time," he murmured, to the busy _scritch-scritch_ of his quill. "True love to the rescue!"

When he was done, we read the book again - but this time, the blue-eyed girl was alive, and the peasant with the really bad lines had become a knight in shining armor…with really bad lines.

"She lives!" he crowed, taking the blushing girl's hands in his. "She bears a face more beautiful than I had ever imagined, and I bear the eyes to see it!"

The girl squeezed her lover's hands. Then she turned her glowing eyes to Deekin, and she knelt, with a grace so exquisite that I found myself twitching irritably. "My beloved Sir William says it was by your hand that he was knighted," the girl told the kobold, smiling radiantly. "For that, I shall always thank you. His rescue was most gallant, especially since I thought it was a kindly beggar youth I loved."

Sir William laid a hand over his heart. "A ruse, a lover's ruse, sweet Jendra, that I might win your heart's true affection and not have you simply love the Sir before my name!" he proclaimed. "But now I may be content, for I know that you love me for who I truly am!"

I exchanged glances with Xanos. He looked what I guessed he would refer to as _bilious._ I knew exactly how he felt. "Deeks," I said, turning to the kobold. "Did _you_ write all of this?"

He beamed. The blue-eyed girl was stroking William's cheek and cooing. "Yeah. He tried to make it sound just like the original, only better! Isn't it great?" the kobold chirped.

A vein in the sorcerer's forehead throbbed. " _Great_ was not the appellation Xanos had in mind," he growled.

I glanced over at William and Jendra. They were gazing soulfully into one another's eyes. "Why don't we give those two lovebirds some privacy," I suggested tactfully. Then I ruined it by adding, " _Before_ I hurl all over the floor."

Xanos glared at them and snorted. "Agreed," he said, and swept away in a rustle of tattered robes.

Deekin followed us. "Aww, c'mon, you guys," he complained. "What's wrong with a little happily ever after?"

I opened my mouth to say, _"We're not 'happily ever after' people, Deeks, and sappiness makes us cranky."_ Then I closed it. The little kobold had big dreams. Who was I to puncture them? "Nothing," I said out loud. "I'm sorry, Deeks. You did good back there."

Kobolds couldn't blush, but Deekin's bashful downwards glance was about as close to it as he could get to it. "Aw," he said. "Thanks, Boss."

"No charge."

Xanos was standing in the chamber behind the altar, staring down at the book that led to Karsus and the arch-mage's little slice of hell.

He didn't turn around, though he must have heard us come in. "Pride brought the flying cities down," he mused. "It destroyed an entire civilization. The arch-mage's punishment was no less than he deserved." But his tone was dubious.

I looked at the half-orc's broad back and wondered when punishment stopped and revenge began, and whether any of it was really necessary. Karsus had constructed his own personal hell, with his guilt as the bricks and his blood as the mortar. Next to that, what could anyone else do to him that was any worse than what he could do to himself? "I think Karsus has been punished long enough," I suggested. "Don't you?"

The sorcerer snorted. "The man nearly tore the fabric of the world in two," he said.

I shrugged. "Not on purpose," I argued. "Besides, he's learned his lesson." I remembered the fractured sanity in the man's eyes, and the way they'd reflected the flames of hell a million times over. My voice softened. "It's about time _somebody_ forgave him for what he did. God knows he never will."

The sorcerer went very still. "Yes," he said, a strange note in his voice. "Forgiveness." He laughed, suddenly. "Yes," he said. "There is a certain…rightness to that."

I looked down at Deekin, who met my eyes briefly and then held up the quill and inkpot, wordless for once. "All right," I said, and took the objects from the kobold's hands. "Then write it in."

The sorcerer half-turned, startled. "Me?" he demanded incredulously.

"Sure," I said easily. "Why not? Here-" I added, and passed over the pen and ink. "You do it. Your handwriting is better than mine."

He turned back to the book, slowly. "Yes," he agreed absent-mindedly, and dipped the quill in ink. "Xanos has met tundra yeti with better penmanship than yours."

I made a face at his back. "Thanks so much," I said drily.

He finished writing, ending his sentence with a crisp jab of the quill. "No charge," he retorted. I could practically _hear_ him smirking.

When we got to hell, there was no one there – but there _was_ a softly spinning ball of wind, its currents as tender as a song.

I wondered if this was the ex-arch-mage's way of saying thanks, or if this whole thing had just been a test, and – without even realizing it - we'd managed to pass.

The other two were looking at me expectantly. "What?" I asked uneasily.

Xanos lifted an eyebrow. "You are the one who knows how to call the wind," he remarked testily. "So stop dawdling, woman, and call it."

"Yeah," Deekin piped up cheerfully. "Mean green man not gonna be of any help. All he can do is _pass_ wind."

Xanos's eyes bulged. He rounded on the kobold, snarling. "Why, you little-"

I sighed and walked up to the Wise Wind, ignoring the squabbling going on behind me. "Well, come on if you're coming," I told it resignedly.

The Wise Wind came to my hand easily, carrying with it a scent like spring flowers.

And then all that remained was to find the tower.

"It will be in the exact center of the city," Xanos said. He pulled a book out of his pockets – like all magely types, he seemed to have an awful lot of pockets on him, hidden all over his robes – and began to leaf through it. "Now," he mused, walking ahead with his eyes glued to the pages. "Given the habits of Netherese construction, we can conclude that the city covers a roughly circular area, equivalent to that of the inverted peak on which it was built. If Xanos is correct, one of these books should contain some reference to the surface area of Undrentide, as it was historically. From that, we may be able to calculate its circumference, and from there we should be able to determine the precise center, and, armed with that, we can locate the Tower of the Winds-"

I stopped in the middle of the street. I leaned on Silent Partner and pointed upwards. "You mean that big-ass tower right over there?" I asked.

Xanos looked up. His eyes followed my pointing finger. He blinked, and opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "Oh," he said.

I went on innocently. "I mean, it's a little hard to miss – it's only the tallest building in town."

The sorcerer snapped his book shut, flushing. "Shut up," he said shortly.

"That, and it's glowing bright purple, which is kind of a dead giveaway that _something's_ going on." I looked over my shoulder at Deekin, grinning. "What do you say, Deeks? Are my calculations correct?"

Deekin giggled. "Looks good to me, Boss."

Xanos had turned a really striking shade of eggplant. "Oh, would the two of you kindly shut _up_?" he sighed. Stiffly, he marched ahead, gathering up the tatters of his dignity together with his robes. "Xanos does not know what sins he has committed in his life to be saddled with the likes of you-"

"I don't know," I returned, grinning unrepentantly. "But they must have been doozies."

I was still grinning when we reached the foot of the tower.

It _was_ tall, an octagonal column of glass and metal with its spiraling stair clearly visible through the glass. It was so much like one of the skyscrapers back home that it shocked me. I had to crane my neck to take it in, and even then, I couldn't see all the way to the top.

It occurred to me that Heurodis was probably up there. My grin faded.

Deekin crouched nearby. He peered up at the glowing glass tower alertly, quill and paper in hand. "Deekin be glad he made it here," he said softly. "He never thought he'd see anything like this. Not for real."

The groans and snaps from the heaving city were tortured, now. I had to set my feet wide and hold on to Silent Partner just to stay upright. "Even with all of this?" I asked sourly.

He looked up at me. "Even with all of this," he said. "It be worth it, Boss." His eyes gleamed shrewdly. "So don't worry," he added. "Whatever happens…Deekin be okay with it."

There was a lump in my throat. It was making it hard to speak.

Xanos saved me by filling in the silence. "This is not…a disagreeable end," he said. He crossed his arms over his chest, but his golden eyes were steady on me, if sad. "Heurodis must die…for many reasons. If she should kill Xanos first …you are perhaps the only person whom he would trust to succeed where he has failed."

 _Great._ Now I really couldn't talk. "What'd I do…to deserve you two?" I said roughly.

Xanos blinked. "Something very bad," the sorcerer returned drily. "Obviously."

I looked at him. He blurred. "You sell yourself short, big brother," I said.

He returned the look. "So do you…little sister," he rumbled softly.

The knot in my throat had settled into my chest, right beneath my heart, which was pounding like a drum.

It came as a relief to hear Deekin's businesslike cough. "So," he said. "Uh. Anything you wanna say, Boss? Y'know…for posterity."

I knew damn well that I was neither particularly smart nor particularly eloquent, even at the best of times. Those were talents that belonged to people like Xanos and Deekin.

But…I was what I was, and there was no changing it.

All I could do was be _me,_ just as hard as I could, and hope that that would be enough.

I craned my neck, looking up at the tower's airy, floating metal staircase. It seemed to wind on forever. "Yeah," I said. "As a matter of fact, I do have something to say."

Deekin perked up, holding his pen at the ready. "What be that, Boss?" he asked eagerly.

I glared glumly at the stairs – and boy, were there a _lot_ of them. "They could make the whole damned city fly, but could they install an elevator anywhere?" I muttered. "No. Of course not. That would have made some actual goddamned _sense,_ and now we're going to fucking have to climb all the way up there, and do you think we'll be in any shape to do anything but _wheeze_ on Heurodis once we find her? No? I didn't _think_ so. I tell you, it's enough to make me want to _spit_. Just let me get my hands on the jackass who spec'd this building, I swear to god, and he'll never want to look at a staircase again in his life. I don't even _care_ if he's already dead... "

And then, still grumbling steadily under my breath, I summoned the winds – the Dark Wind, and the Dead, and the Wise – and opened the way to Heurodis.


	52. Chapter 52

_Why don't you, sit right back,_ __  
_and I, I may tell you, a tale._ __  
_A tale of three, little pigs,_ _  
_ _and a BIG, BAD, WOLF._

_Well, the first little piggy, well he was kinda hick._ __  
_He spent most of his days, just a dreamin' of the city._ __  
_And then one day, he bought a guitar._ __  
_He moved to Hollywood, to become a star._ __  
_But, living on the farm, he knew nothing of the city._ __  
_Built his house out of straw, what a pity._ __  
_And then one day, jammin' on some chords,_ _  
_ _along came the wolf, knocking on his door._

_Little Pig, Little Pig, let me in._ __  
_NOT BY THE HAIR OF MY CHINNY, CHIN, CHIN!_ __  
_Little Pig, Little Pig, let me in._ __  
_NOT BY THE HAIR OF MY CHINNY, CHIN, CHIN!_ __  


_Well I'm huffin', I'm puffin', I'll blow your house in._ __  
_Huffin', puffin', blow your house in._ __  
_Huffin', puffin', blow your house in._ _  
_ _Huffin' and a puffin' and I'll blow your house in!_

_\- Green Jelly, "Three Little Pigs"_

* * *

 

Invisible as ghosts, we climbed the long spiral stair.

Outside, great waterfalls of sand sleeted down the glass, moving past us at avalanche speed.

"Undrentide is breaking loose of its moorings," Xanos's voice remarked grimly.

I didn't bother to look at him. If I tried, I knew that I'd see nothing but the air – as clear and empty as glass. "Let it," I said. In my life, I'd learned very well the lesson of futility. "There's nothing we can do to stop it, anyway."

Our footsteps echoed on the metal stair. Vertical streaks of blue sky appeared outside. It was day, which was strange. Underground, I'd lost all track of time.

Outside, the wind howled. It battered at the glass, clawing for entry.

_Little pig, little pig, let me in,_ I thought, and I smiled like a wolf.

The stairway opened up to a glass roof. The clouds and sky reflected in it in patches. Drifts of sand hissed across the glass, blown by the rising wind.

The wind whipped at my hair. It stung my eyes. I ignored it.

The wind wasn't my enemy.

_She_ was.

She stood at the center of a circle of metal-and-glass columns, lines of white light criss-crossing between them. There was a low, slim column before her, and floating just above it was something that burned like a miniature sun.

She was no longer cloaked and hooded. Maybe she'd discarded the subterfuge as useless. Or maybe she was as far beyond caring as I was.

I stepped forward, walking as softly as I could. Behind me, I knew that Xanos and Deekin would be spreading out to flank me.

I'd hoped that she wouldn't see any of us coming until it was too late.

I probably should have known better than to be so optimistic.

Heurodis turned. Light poured from her eyes. "Priestess," she greeted me, her voice echoing sibilantly. "I have been expecting you."

_Well, so much for plan A,_ I thought, somewhere beneath the buzz of adrenaline. For an insane instant, I was tempted to laugh at the absurd futility of it all. Only for an instant, though, and then the urge was gone, subsumed by urgency. _Time for plan B._

The bitch could obviously see right through the spell of invisibility that Deekin had sung onto me. That meant that she could probably see the others, too, but that wasn't a given – and, if she had, at least I could try to distract her, give the other two some time to do something while her eyes were fixed on me.

It occurred to me, briefly, that what I was about to do was probably very stupid. It was also, however, the only thing I could think of doing.

_Stupid it is, then._

I stepped forward, my footsteps crunching across sand and glass. Deliberately, I avoided the medusa's eyes. "All right. So you can see me. I give," I said loudly. Anger and fear and adrenaline gave my tongue an edge like a razor. "You know, I was actually planning to throw a surprise, 'congratulations on being such a crazy bitch' party for you. There was going to be a cake and everything, too, but _noo_ , you had to-"

She laughed dismissively. There was a strange, hollow discordance to her voice. "Such bravado," she hissed. "One might even think that I could not see your heart, beating in your chest like a frightened rabbit's."

"You've got good eyesight." I took another step forward, Silent Partner rapping against the glass underfoot. "Though I can't help but notice that I'm not a statue yet. Something happen to your eyes?"

The medusa smiled. Light shone from between her teeth. "There are many fates which you should fear, but that one is no longer possible. I gave up my gaze to join with the mythal, and now, all the world is laid bare to my sight," she breathed, spreading her hands wide. The ley-lines of power followed, swaying gracefully with her every movement. "A pity you cannot feel this, child. Such power …"

I didn't take my eyes from her hands, in case I missed the first gestures of a spell. I took another step closer. "So you can't turn anyone to stone anymore, huh?"

She threw back her head and laughed a breathless rasp of a laugh. "What need have I of earthly eyes, when I can see the soul of the world?" she retorted.

"The soul of the world, huh?" I felt my lips curl into a derisive smile. My breath was fast and light, and my heart was booming like a war drum. "There's this guy I know – maybe you've heard of him? His name's Karsus. He wanted to see the soul of the world, too." I paused thoughtfully. "Turns out that it's kinda shy, and it _really_ doesn't like to be looked at. Who knew?"

She smiled back, predatory and unconcerned. "Would you like to know what I see when I look at _you,_ child?" she asked conversationally, my taunts dismissed as summarily as if I'd said nothing at all. "I see the shadows clinging to you, the uncertainty. I see your death, within the hour-"

I'd been waiting for it, so it didn't surprise me when she raised her hands, moving as quick as a striking snake.

I'd been ready for it, so it only took a quicksilver flash of thought to dive into the seat of my power and thrust it outward into a shield just as a tongue of fire uncoiled from the medusa's outstretched palm.

Then, much to my surprise, the sorceress turned. "- but not before the deaths of your allies," she added coolly, and, so fast that I barely saw it leave her palm, the tongue of flame roared to furious life and sped _away,_ zipping to some point behind me and to the side.

I hadn't been ready for that, and Xanos's roar of pain, coming from behind and to the side of me hit the pit of my stomach like lead, as did the startled shriek and skitter of talons that could only have come from Deekin.

I crouched behind my useless shield, frozen with shock.

She'd never meant to hit me first. She'd meant to hit _them_. All the time that I'd been trying to distract her, she'd just been playing along, biding her time until she could turn the fucking tables on _me_ _._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ I railed at myself. I didn't dare to look behind me to check on the others. I couldn't take my eyes off of Heurodis – and I wasn't sure I could bear the guilt if I saw my friends lying dead because I'd so drastically underestimated the medusa. _How could I be so fucking gullible?_

My emotions must have bled through to my face, because Heurodis, her hands once again lowered to her sides, looked at me and smiled. "Yes," she admitted coolly. "I saw your companions – quite clearly, in fact. Did you truly think that you could fool me, young priestess?" She regarded me with clinical amusement. "You have failed to comprehend that, with the power of the mythal, I can see _everything -_ including your pathetic attempts to manipulate me," she said, and sighed, almost in disappointment. "I did warn you, you know," she added.

Silent Partner came up at the ready, though I didn't even remember telling my hands to move. _Just let her get close enough,_ I prayed. "Warn me about what?" I asked out loud, my voice shaking with fury. _Come closer, bitch. All I need is one clear shot at your fucking skull, just one shot._ "That you'd deserve everything you've got coming to you?"

She smiled at me, and raised her hands, and I wondered what she thought she was doing, casting a spell while I was wrapped in a shield that would kill any magic that came near me.

Then, without so much as a flicker, the medusa vanished.

Sand drifted over the glass. Far below, the city groaned. The wind whistled, far-off and hollow.

I froze. A tingle of warning, of pure hind-brain _instinct_ , made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

There was someone behind me.

Unfortunately, I had a pretty good idea who it was – and it wasn't Shaundakul. Not this time.

I spun with a sharp cry, Silent Partner spinning up and out.

The quarterstaff rebounded on me as if I'd just hit a wall. Light flared, making the lines of power in the mythal surge, bright white and blinding.

Heurodis smiled at me. She had a dagger in her upraised hand. The blade was as black and clear as obsidian, and the point was needle-sharp. "I warned you that you were no match for a daughter of the medusae," she said conversationally.

Then she stabbed me in the chest.

The blade impacted with a hollow thunk and a queer, cold, sliding sensation.

I looked down at the dagger that was protruding from my chest, and blinked.

_How the hell'd she get that through my armor?_ was my first thought.

Following on its heels was a second, much more irritating thought. It went: _J'Nah did almost the same exact thing, and here I've gone and fallen for it_ again. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

Then came the third thought: _This is really gonna hurt once the adrenaline's run out, isn't it?_

I seemed to have staggered a step or two backwards. My hand went to the hilt of the dagger, wrapped around it as if to reassure myself that, yes, that was a dagger, and, yes, it _was_ actually stuck between my ribs, just above the upper swell of my right breast.

_Bitch. I can't believe it. She actually_ stabbed _me._

I tried to suck in a breath. Discovered that inhaling lit a firework explosion of red-hot pain deep in my chest. Stopped.

Heurodis followed me, stepping almost delicately over the sand and the glass. "A shame," she remarked casually. "I had hoped that my first opponent would present more of a challenge than this."

I decided to leave the dagger where it was. I didn't seem to be bleeding. That meant that the blade was probably doing for me what corks did for bottles of whiskey – i.e., keeping me from leaking valuable fluids all over the place.

It was a strangely hilarious thought. At least, _I_ thought it was, though I was aware that my thinking was ragged and pain-spiked and disjointed and probably not altogether sane any more.

Suddenly, I looked up at Heurodis, grinning through the pain. I didn't know why. Everything just seemed very funny, all of the sudden. Maybe it was the adrenaline. "You shouldn't've done that," I croaked, through the fire in my chest.

She raised her sparse eyebrows at me. "Whatever for?" she asked scornfully.

Dreamily, I reached into my pocket. Heavy metal twined around my fingers."'Cause if I'm going down, you're coming down with me," I said happily. "Bitch."

Then drew the holy symbol from my pocket, looked up at the sky and drew the last scraps of breath from my failing lungs. " _Shaundakul!"_ I screamed.


	53. Chapter 53

_In sand and thorns_   
_I'm walking forth_   
_Bare and blinking as the day that I was born_   
_Bells in spires of China white_   
_Ring for an Augustine tonight_

_Lead me now_   
_I understand_   
_Faith is both the prison and the open hand_   
_Bells on low on high_   
_Will you ring for Augustine tonight_

_Oh, now I'm breaking down,_   
_Every illusion in between_   
_All the lies that I have seen_   
_Oh, let me be your Augustine_

_\- Vienna Teng, "Augustine"_

* * *

 

The world convulsed around me, shuddering like a thunderclap.

Then everything went still, and _he_ was there, his cloaked figure blotting out the light of the sun.

His grey eyes took it all in instantly – the blade, the blood, everything - and darkened to a grey so dark it was nearly black. He reached out to me. " _Rebecca_ ," he said, and his voice caught on my name, like it hurt him. "I am here."

I looked up at him, and wondered if anyone, mortal or otherwise, had ever looked at me like that, like the dagger was in _his_ chest as much as it was in mine. "Hey, Mister Windy," I said eventually. I smiled, faintly. "Glad you could make it."

His lips tightened. He didn't smile. "You need healing, child," he said. His eyes clouded. "But that is not why you called me here…is it?"

"No," I admitted. I straightened, gingerly, though delicacy didn't seem to be necessary. The pain wasn't nearly as bad here, in this dreamy otherworld. I could almost breathe, which was useful, because it would have been hard to talk otherwise, and that was annoying. "I need help," I said abruptly.

He just looked at me, his face unreadable. "Speak," he said.

I considered and discarded several explanations, before I settled on the most succinct of them all. "Bitch needs to go down," I said bluntly.

I knew by now that he'd test me with questions. That didn't make it any less irritating when he did just that. "Why?" he asked, just as bluntly.

My lips thinned grimly. "She's the one who stabbed me, and, for all I know, she's already killed the others," I said, my voice taut with half-stifled rage. The grief was there, but I shoved it away. I'd have plenty of time to grieve once I was dead. "I'm not gonna let her get away with it _._ "

He lifted his eyebrows skeptically. "That is not the only reason," he argued.

I knew there was really no way to hide the truth from him. He'd always find it, in the end. It was what he did – uncover the secrets, the truths, that no one else could. "No," I said eventually. "It isn't." I drew in a breath. "I like this world, all right?" I snapped defensively. I thought of everyone I'd ever really cared for, and, with the exception of my father, saw that every single one of them came from a different world than I did. "I…like the people. I don't want her to kill them in some crazy power-grab."

At that, my god's face lost some of its severity, relaxing into a genuine smile. "Then my gift has not been wasted," he said softly. His voice was like a wash of sunlight on my frayed nerves. Then it turned crisp, businesslike. "What will you do?"

That was easy. "Destroy the mythal," I said. "It's protecting her, somehow. I can't reach her while she's hooked up to it."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. They were as grey as the rain, and infinitely sad. I supposed that he had a good reason to be. He was about to lose another one of his people, and I knew he didn't like that. "What would you have of me?" he asked.

Darkly, I smirked. "Keep her off my back," I said. "I'm going to rain on her parade, but it's going to take all of my attention, and I don't want any interruptions while I'm doing it."

Shaundakul's smile widened into a grin that was almost feral. "It would be my pleasure," he said pleasantly. Steel rang dully as he unslung his greatsword from his back. The shadows lengthened, streaming deep and dark over the sun-bright glass. "Go, and do as you must, my dearest child," he told me tenderly. His eyes gleamed like molten steel. "I will let none stand in your way."

I nodded, peering up at him through eyes that were suddenly blurring. There was a lot to say, but then, I figured that I didn't really need to say it. That was the difference between gods and mortals. When someone could see right into your heart, you could leave a lot unspoken – including words like _goodbye._

I took a deep breath – probably the last I'd be able to draw, so I figured I might as well enjoy it. There was no fear left, and not much room for regrets, either. All there was was a sort of detached calm.

I wondered if this was how Drogan had felt, right before he died. I hoped so. I didn't really want to have to be afraid, not on top of everything else.

"Whenever you're ready," I told my god, gravely.

He inclined his head…

…and then the world came back in a rush of color and noise.

Pain came back, too, and I found myself grinning, fiercely, my teeth bared in a rictus of agony and anger and vicious, visceral satisfaction at the thought of what I was about to do.

Nobody picked a fight with a Blumenthal without suffering the consequences. _Nobody._

The _nerve_ of the woman…

Heurodis was staring at me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What trickery is this?" she demanded, the lines of power between her and the mythallar beginning to hum.

I would have laughed, if I had the breath. The wind, I noticed, was changing. "The worst kind," I croaked. "Divine."

Then a shadow sliced between us, whooshing through the air with the whistle and thrum of a very, very big sword.

The wind slammed down in front of the medusa, knocking her right off of her feet.

I grinned even more widely at the medusa's scream of outrage. It was, I decided, music to my ears.

Then I turned away. I wasn't worried about turning my back on her. Shaundakul would guard it for me.

Me, I had some meteorological work to do.

I wrapped both hands around Silent Partner, relying on the quarterstaff to keep me upright. My legs were starting to feel weak, but I didn't want to sit quite yet, for fear that I'd never get up again.

The pain was bad. I tried to breathe shallowly, but every breath was a searing agony, anyway, so it was kind of a losing battle.

Like a wildfire through a forest, the pain swept all of the undergrowth away. Every irrelevancy, every distraction, every weak and half-baked objection – gone to ash.

What remained was _clarity_ , as sharp and bright as shattered glass.

There were no more chances, and I had no more time to waste. No more excuses. Either I did this now, or no one ever would.

_Might as well get on with it, then,_ I thought, and raised my face to the sky.

This far above the ground, the currents of wind rolled like waves. Here and there, there were tangles, where the clouds scudded across the restless sky.

The power beneath my heart trembled and leapt like a nervous puppy, begging to be let out to play.

_Why not?_ I thought. It wasn't as if I had anything left to lose.

I threw the door wide open.


	54. Chapter 54

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_   
_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_   
_All your life_   
_You were only waiting for this moment to arise._

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_   
_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_   
_All your life_   
_You were only waiting for this moment to be free._

_\- The Beatles, "Blackbird"_

* * *

 

Power seethed through me, around me, into me, out of me.

_Above. Behind. Beyond. Where am I?_

Then I saw.

_Ah._

I stood on a tower of glass, open to the sky, as the winds pulled my mind apart at the seams and then smashed it back together again, second by second.

It was impossible to concentrate.

_Focus,_ said an echo of Xanos's voice, as irascible and sneering as ever. The sound of it snapped me back to earth. But my brother was dead, or was probably close to it, else he'd have made his presence known before now. It _couldn't_ have been him who had spoken.

The wind buffeted me first one way, and then the other. All around me was the unbridled chaos of the sky, and I was afraid of what would happen if I let it draw me in.

_Don't worry, Boss._ That was Deekin. Or rather, it probably wasn't, but I barely even remembered who I was, anymore, much less where I was and what was real and what wasn't. _It okay. Really. Deekin not afraid. You shouldn't be, either._

I turned to look behind me, wondering where his voice had come from, but I only saw more sky. Fascinated, I watched as the currents rushed over head, pushing and writhing and twisting around each other, re-forming and shifting their course with each collision.

Then came Drogan's voice, and I _knew_ then that I had to have gone completely off of my rocker, because the old dwarf was most certainly dead. _Think, lass,_ he counseled me in his gruff, patient brogue. _Don't panic. Think about what needs doin', then_ do _it._

Tentatively, I reached out with one spectral hand. A current purred through my fingers, cool as silk, hot as a live wire, and as I held it, it first writhed against my hand and then smoothed out compliantly, conforming to fit my grasp.

The pain was still there, throbbing beneath the ecstatic hum of power in my veins. I could barely feel it any longer, but it was there, anchoring me, dragging me back to earth even as the wind tried to pull me away.

I was tempted to laugh. _Who knew?_ I mused. _Turns out that Heurodis might have done me a favor, after all._

More curious than fearful, now, I reached out with my other hand, and took hold of another rope of air. This one, too, spun and spat, but it flowed through my fingers just like the other had.

I looked up, the wind twining like live snakes around my hands, and saw the storm.

It danced on the very edge of the sky, a swirl of crackling, eager dark. _Gotcha,_ I thought with grim satisfaction.

Then, hand over hand, like a fisherman pulling in his lines, I dragged the storm in.

Dark clouds gathered. The wind rose, blowing sheets of sand across the glass.

I paid it no mind. I was in the storm. I _was_ the storm, and I had too much momentum behind me to stop now.

With my second sight, I looked down, through the mythal's glow. Lines of power radiated like the spokes of a wheel, running from the mythallar to the circle of columns which surrounded it.

They seemed relevant, somehow – but, more to the point, though the outer shell of each column was made of glass, sheathed _inside_ each column was a pole of silvery metal. The poles protruded from their columns, pinpoints of light in the sudden dark.

To the eyes of the storm, they looked an awful lot like lightning rods.

Electricity gathered, making the air tingle across my skin like a thousand tiny needles.

Then I saw Heurodis, trapped and fuming impotently behind a wall of wind, and I made myself smile at her.

It wasn't a very nice smile. Then again, I wasn't in any kind of mood to be nice.

The storm erupted.

Forks of lightning stabbed down in quick succession, _one-two-three-four-five-six,_ and each strike was followed by the concussive boom and crack of exploding glass.

One column after another vanished in a glittering shower of pulverized glass. The air was filled with the tinkle of falling shards. The metal cores glowed, white-hot and making little _tink-tink_ noises as they just barely began to cool.

It was, I decided, a very pretty sight. I was glad to have lived long enough to see it.

And then, as I turned to Heurodis, I decided that, no, the look on her face, the look that she wore as the fruits of all of her labors vanished in a puff of ozone – _that_ was the most magnificent sight of them all.

Her lips tried to form words. Eventually, one came out. " _You,_ " she rasped, and the sheer hatred behind that one word was a balm to all of my grief.

"Me," I returned pleasantly. A part of me noticed that my legs were trembling. A lot. Actually, most of me was trembling, and my voice seemed thready and why was it so damned cold all of the sudden?

I shifted, leaning heavily on Silent Partner. A wave of pain slammed through my chest, momentarily blacking out my vision. _Oh,_ I thought vaguely. _Right. The dagger. Right._

Heurodis was approaching. Rage was an inadequate word for what I saw in her face. In fact, her hair seemed to be so agitated that it was biting _itself_ , which struck me as a hilariously strange thing for hair to do, but she didn't even seem to notice.

Then, as the medusa drew near, it occurred to me that I hadn't really planned this far. I'd only gotten as far as _destroy the mythal._

_Yeah. Destroy the mythal – and then what?_ Let Heurodis wipe the floor with me, now that I'd made her _really_ angry?

Oh, well. It wasn't as if it mattered. We were all going to be dead soon, anyway. I could already feel the ground tilting under my feet, the city wrenched from its smooth upwards flight with the destruction of the mythal.

I watched Heurodis advance. I was having trouble holding my arms up, even with Silent Partner to lean on. I felt like lead weights had been strapped to my wrists.

I didn't really know what I expected her to do. She could try to cast a spell, but that would've been silly, seeing as how I was still shielded. Maybe she knew how to take my shield down. God knew I didn't have the strength left to put it back up again.

Too, she could try to strangle me, which would have been a toss-up, seeing as how she wasn't very strong but I'd gone as weak as a newborn kitten, so it wasn't as if I could put up much of a fight, even from a withered old snake-fucker like herself.

The likeliest outcome was that she had another dagger hidden somewhere, or that she'd reclaim the one in my chest long enough to stab me with it again. Xanos might have been able to calculate the probability to the nearest percentage point, but I settled for deeming the possibility _pretty fucking likely_ and leaving it at that.

My mind ticked over, examining the potential outcomes with an almost clinical detachment. It wasn't what I would call _bravery_ , this total absence of any kind of emotional response. I was, I thought, just too damned numb and too damned _tired_ to feel much of anything anymore.

_Stick a fork in me,_ I thought. _I'm done._ I started to giggle, choked, and heard the asthmatic wheeze in my chest as I tried to catch my breath.

The medusa drew close, baring her too-long teeth. No more light was shining behind her eyes. No more light haloed her. She'd gone dark, just like the mythal. _Lights out for all of us,_ I thought with black, delirious despair. _All hands on deck. Down with the ship…_

The medusa's gaunt hand reached up. It wrapped around the hilt of the dagger that she'd left stuck in my chest. "Have you any idea how many years of work you have brought to ruin, girl?" she snarled at me.

I smiled at her hazily. "Judging by your wrinkles?" I mused. "Lots." I raised a finger, a sudden thought striking me. "By the way, you know, they make lotions for that. I could hook you up with this absolute genius in Paris-"

I had a split second to see her fingers tighten around the dagger, and then agony overwhelmed everything as the blade was yanked out of me, hard. Whatever I'd wanted to say, it ended up leaving my mouth in a choked, inarticulate scream.

The place where the dagger had been felt hot, but the rest of me felt like ice, and when I tried to breathe, I heard a gurgling, sucking sound coming from the hole in my chest.

My knees buckled. My hand closed on Silent Partner, trying desperately to keep me upright, because I didn't want to die on my knees, but blackness was closing in at the edges of my vision, and it was getting harder and harder to keep it at bay, and god but it _hurt,_ in a way that nothing had ever hurt before.

The medusa raised the dagger. "I would have killed you quickly," she said grimly. "But now-"

Pain-hazed and barely conscious, I waited. Confused, I wondered why she was taking so long. If she was going to kill me, the least she could do was get on with it.

Then I saw her fingers open, reflexively, and her mouth opened and closed, her eyes going wide with shock.

Heurodis's dagger dropped to the ground and spun away, leaving a corkscrew spiral of blood behind it.

Smoke, green and acrid and decidedly not pleasant-smelling, poured from between her parted lips.

Then, with a lot less ceremony that I might have expected, the sorceress gave a gurgling sigh and crumpled to the ground.

Her fall revealed the kobold standing right behind her, a smoking and bloody dagger in his hand, looking at me with a lot of worry and just a little bit of panic.

"Boss?" he squeaked. "Sorry, Boss, Deekin came as quick as he could, but first he fell down the stairs, and then he lost his crossbow, and then he had to wait for Boss to take the mythal down, and then he had to get a knife from green man, which took some doing, because he's…uh…he's…not…really…" The kobold's words trailed off. He swallowed, looking up at me. I thought I saw myself reflected in his glossy black eyes. "Boss," he said then, a plaintive whine entering his voice. "Boss…y-your lips are blue. That not normal…is it?"

I stared at him. Then I stared at Heurodis. Then, unable to quite understand what had just happened, my eyes went back to Deekin. "Deeks…what-" My voice didn't sound right. I stopped, and, seeing the direction Deekin's eyes were heading, reached up laboriously and twitched my cloak over the bloody hole in my armor, right above my right breast. I didn't want him to see that. He'd freak. "What are you-" I couldn't seem to make my brain work. Nevertheless, a few things penetrated. "X-Xanos," I gasped. "He's-"

"Hurt," Deekin finished for me. His inner eyelids scissored across his eyes, briefly. He fidgeted with the dagger, looked at it, saw that it was still smoking, stopped, and looked back up at me. "Snake lady…she aimed the spell right at him…Deekin dodged, but green man was right in the way, and he not that quick-"

I didn't hear the rest of it. "Where?" I managed to say. Spots were dancing in front of my eyes. No matter how hard I tried to suck in air, it never seemed to be enough, though at least it no longer hurt to inhale quite so much. Maybe my lung had finally finished collapsing. "S-show me."

My legs gave out halfway, unable to cope with keeping me upright across the listing, swaying ground. I crossed the last few feet to Xanos on my hands and knees, leaving streaks of scarlet on the glass.

Deekin had been right. It was bad. The sorcerer must have caught the brunt of that fireball, and while it hadn't killed him, he was probably wishing that it had.

I propped myself against the remains of a glass half-wall and leaned close to the half-orc's pointed ear. "Xanos?" I whispered. "Y'hear me?"

His head moved. His eyes opened to slits. "Idiot," he greeted me, uttering the word with simple, eloquent fervency. His eyes closed again. "She…is dead?"

"Yeah." I felt myself smile. With an effort, I slid my hand into his, careful to avoid the places where he had been burned - though at least, for his sake, his face was practically untouched. The world blurred. "Y'look…uglier'n usual."

He snorted a laugh, until a convulsion of pain made him stop. "So…d'you."

"'m not ugly. You are."

"Shut up."

"You first."

Someone else slipped their hand into mine. It was cool and dry in covered in scales.

"Boss," the kobold whispered tentatively, wriggling closer until he was practically sitting in my lap. His eyes were big and black and glossy and fixed on my face. "Boss, what's wrong? You don't look so good. You're awfully pale, and you gots blood all over-"

I braced myself against the wall as the city sagged to one side, like a sailboat catching a crosswind. I thought I felt a sudden skip of weightlessness, and wondered how far we were above the ground. Two thousand feet? A thousand? Less? How long would it take us to fall? "Nothing," I said, getting the words out with difficulty. "Don't worry." I didn't want him to worry. He had enough to worry about as it was.

Unfortunately, this was Deekin, and while I didn't know his last name – didn't know if he even had one – I was pretty sure that 'Worry' was his middle name. "If the mythal's gone," the kobold whispered. "That means…" He looked around us, at the listing city and the angry sky, and trailed off into a jittery sigh. "Deekin kinda hoped to have more adventures before he died," he mourned.

I looked at him, and I thought of decisions, and of whether I had any right to make them for anyone else, given my track record as far as my _own_ decisions went. "I know," I said, and squeezed his hand. I didn't have much energy left, but what I had in mind shouldn't take much. A command rose up on my tongue. "Go t'sleep, now. 'K?"

The kobold's eyes slid shut almost instantly. He slumped against my side, cuddled there like a sleeping puppy – a very large, scaley, highly intelligent puppy, I'll grant, but aside from that, the comparison was apt enough.

I turned to Xanos. I couldn't tell if he was conscious or not, though his breathing was strained and uneven – indicating, perhaps, that he was still holding on, stubbornly, to the last shreds of consciousness.

Better for him if he wasn't awake to deal with this. I nudged my hand over until it was flopped more or less against his cheek, and, letting a wan thread of power into my voice, I said, "Y'too. Sleep."

Almost imperceptibly, the sorcerer relaxed. His breathing steadied slightly. "Sorry," I mumbled to him. "'s for th'best."

Then, weakly, I leaned back against the column. I wasn't sure if I'd done the right thing, but it was done – and at least the fall would be a lot easier on them, now that they wouldn't be awake to feel it.

I huddled closer to them both. They were warm, and I was so cold, and everything kept tilting and swaying, and I wondered, bitterly, just who was going to make the fall easier on _me_.

Gradually, the world stopped its nauseating swaying. The wind changed, acquiring a note like the whistle of a far-off flute.

From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a swirl of shadow. Something in the way it moved put me in mind of the hem of a long, dark cloak.

The sunlight dimmed. I felt someone kneel in front of me. "Rebecca," it said.

I looked up. "Hi," I said simply.

Shaundakul extended a hand. His eyes swirled from grey to blue to silver and back again, shifting through the entire spectrum of the sky. "I can save you from the fall," he said in his soft, resonant voice. "Take my hand."

I looked at his hand blankly. "Can you save them, too?" I asked. No need to say who 'them' referred to. He'd know.

He hesitated. "No," he said heavily. "I am sorry. They are not-"

"-one of your own." The pain had receded a little, in this moment in between moments, and it was easier to talk. "Yeah. I remember."

I felt his eyes on me. "You will not change your mind." It was more of a statement, a request for confirmation, than it was a question.

I raised my eyes to meet his. I frowned. "I thought you said you wouldn't force me into anything," I protested. "You said-"

He was already shaking his head. "No," he sighed. "I cannot. Your will is your own, my dearest child, and I will not take that from you – from any of you. It would do you too great a disservice." His hand reached up, his tanned and weathered fingers gently pushing my hair back from my face. "But I _will_ beg of you to reconsider," he added, his voice rough.

I hesitated. "Answer's no," I blurted, before I had time to think about it. I lowered my eyes. "I'm sorry," I said, and I was, because I knew it'd hurt him if I died, just like it had hurt him when all of those others had died, back in the day, when Myth Drannor had fallen. "But…I wouldn't be able to live with myself, anyway, if I took the easy way out and left them here. So…" I trailed off with a sigh. "For what it's worth…I'm sorry," I mumbled.

The wind died down to a regretful murmur. "Do not be," my god said, brushing his thumb against my cheek. "Your choice does you credit."

A weak, shaky splutter of a laugh escaped me. "Shitty choice to have to make," I mumbled.

"They often are," he agreed with a sigh. Then, carefully, he clasped my head between his hands and leaned forward, pressing a sound kiss to my forehead. "I am proud of you, my Rebecca," Shaundakul murmured against my skin, his voice breaking. "So very, very proud."

I couldn't take it any more. My breath suddenly hitching, I closed my eyes and let the tears fall – the ones that I hadn't wanted Xanos or Deekin to see. "'m scared," I said in a very small, very childish voice.

He sighed into my hair. "I know," he said quietly.

I nodded against his hands. "Stay with me?" I whispered, my voice failing.

I felt him move to sit beside me. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, draping me in the folds of his battered, travel-worn old cloak. "Always," he promised, and drew me close to him.

I couldn't see him anymore, but I could feel his presence enfold me. It was like the warmth of sunlight and the bliss of shade, and the sweet smell of a soft summer rain, and the glorious vastness of the open sky, and it comforted me.

Somewhere beyond the howl of the wind, I felt the floor fall out beneath me, and a sickening sense of weightlessness.

If it hurt when we hit the ground, I never knew it.


	55. Chapter 55

For a time, I knew nothing.

It wasn't the blankness of unconsciousness, which at least had a beginning and an end.

This was the blankness of oblivion – of _not being_. It had no beginning or end. It didn't even have the concept of beginnings and endings. It simply _was not_.

For both a split second and an eternity, but possibly neither one nor the other, I _was not_.

And then, quite suddenly, I _was_ …

…except that I wasn't. Not really.

Sense and impression flitted through me, like snapshots.

I was somewhere cool and silver-dark, in a place which made me think of moonlight. Clouds drifted underfoot.

I stepped forward. The sweet fragrance of crushed grass curled up towards my nostrils.

Leaves shivered, somewhere near by. I heard the dry crunch of claws digging into bark, and turned to look.

A little red squirrel cocked its head at me. "Ratatosk," it chattered.

I blinked. "Say what?" I said. My voice sounded strange, far-off and hollow.

The squirrel looked at me as if I was the stupidest person it had ever seen in its life, and it had seen a _lot_ of very stupid people, so this was really saying something. "Ratatosk," it repeated huffily. Then it scampered away, disappearing down a branch that led off into a distant bank of mist.

I watched it go. Then, for lack of anything better to do, I sat down. Absent-mindedly, I rubbed my left palm against my thigh. My hand felt itchy.

Lights went on and off around me, like fireflies. They were pretty.

One pair of the greenish lights detached itself. It came nearer, bobbing steadily.

In time, the lights became a pair of eyes, which turned out to belong to a rangy grey wolf.

The wolf looked at me. Then it closed its green eyes and stood up on its hind legs, becoming, between one second and the next, a tall, rangy, green-eyed man. He was also, I noticed, naked, which was a nice bonus. "A petitioner, are you?" he asked.

I stared at him appreciatively, not really listening. "Huh?" I said.

He stared back. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Let me guess," he said drily. "You must be a Prime."

Half-formed memories drifted in and out of my head, like clouds. "I don't know," I said eventually, dreamily. "Am I?"

The man looked at me with pretty much the same expression that the squirrel had worn before. He leaned close, peering at something on my forehead. "Ah," he said. "One of the Rider's, I see." Then he raised his hand to point at something. "Your god is waiting for you beyond the Gates of the Moon, which are that way," he said, speaking very, very slowly and enunciating each word clearly, as if speaking to someone who wasn't altogether with it. "Can you not feel the pull?"

I considered that. "No," I said. I didn't feel much of anything, really. Bored, maybe. And the lights were pretty. And my palm itched. But I didn't feel a pull, unless it was a pull to stay right where I was – forever, if I had to.

He frowned thoughtfully. "Wait here," he told me. Then he crouched down on all fours and bounded off with a flick of his tail.

I felt very strange, but I didn't let that bother me. I watched the lights. They were nice. Kind of sparkly.

Time went by, though I didn't really feel it. I just knew that it had happened because the light had changed, very subtly.

"Hmm," said a woman's voice. It was deep, for a woman's voice, and its elocution was very precise. "This _is_ a touch unusual."

I looked up. I blinked a few times. "Hey," I said to the woman in front of me. I blinked again. "Wow. You're pretty."

The woman regarded me with polite annoyance. "Ah…yes. Thank you," she said primly. From the waist up, she appeared to be a human woman, dusky-skinned and bare-breasted and beautiful. From the waist down, she appeared to be resting on the iridescent coils of a very big snake rather than, as might have been expected, a pair of actual legs. Her wings, which were feathery and as brightly patterned as a tropical bird's, fanned gently in the cool twilight air, and a mane of equally bright plumage framed her lovely face.

Belatedly, I realized that she was saying something. Since no other options presented themselves to me, I reverted to what had apparently become my default response, and said, "Huh?"

The woman closed her eyes for a moment. "Truly, the things I put up with from you petitioners," she sighed. Then she waved a graceful hand in front of my face. "Young lady! Pay attention, do. I requested that you show me your hand."

I blinked. Then, mutely, I held out my right hand.

The pretty feathery lady looked down. "No," she said, her exquisite diction beginning to fray a little around the edges. "Not _that_ hand. The _other_ one."

"Oh." Obediently, I lifted my left hand and placed it in hers. I noticed, in passing, that while _she_ seemed solid enough, I appeared to have become see-through. _Weird,_ I thought. Then I forgot all about it.

The woman turned my hand palm-up. We both stared at it. In the cool silver light which surrounded us, the angry red hole in my palm seemed particularly lurid. "Ah," she said. "I see."

I squinted at my hand. A faint memory bubbled up from somewhere, of a lump of strange red stone. And a dark and ugly altar. And of being way, way too curious for my own good. "Damn," I complained. "I thought I'd healed that."

The woman lifted an elegant eyebrow at me. She let go of my hand. "The injury, yes," she said. "By then, however, you had already been marked."

Swaddled in numbness, I nevertheless felt a spark of emotion ignite, somewhere deep down, where not even _this_ place could douse it.

I knew the emotion well.

I was beginning to feel annoyed. Very, very annoyed. "By who?" I demanded.

A faint wince momentarily marred the lady's exquisite features. " _Whom,_ " she corrected.

I rolled my eyes. "All right," I drawled, with a grandiose, exaggerated impatience that reminded me of…someone. Someone very important to me, though I couldn't recall just who it was. All I had was a vague impression of _green,_ and, for some reason, explosions. "By _whom_?"

I felt an insistent tugging, pulling me inexorably backwards. Inexplicably, the woman was going away. Or maybe I was going away. Either way, we were both moving in opposite directions, and a harsh light was gathering at the edges of my perception.

"By fate!" the woman called after me, her voice growing faint.

I stared at her incredulously. "But I don't believe in fate!" I protested.

The distance snatched away most of her words, but I thought I caught the gist of it.

 _You may not believe in fate,_ I understood.

_But fate believes in you._

And then, before I could say anything further, the twilight world was swallowed up by a bright and terrible light.

Everything around me felt hard, and cold, and there was an unfamiliar sound in my ears, a juddering, labored _thu-thump_ that sent waves of agonizing heat through me.

I wanted to scream. I couldn't.

_Breathe._

The voice sounded familiar. Was it mine? I couldn't tell.

_Breathe._

White was all around me, above me. It was crushing me.

_Snow._

I was blinded. I was drowning. I was dying.

_No, you aren't. Breathe._

Fireworks exploded behind my eyes. How did breathing go? I didn't remember. It had been so long...

_Don't think. Just do it._

Then the pain was too much, and my back was arching, pressing me against cold, hard stone, and I was breathing, desperately sucking in one hoarse, too-fast breath after another. And another. And another.

My heart pumped. Blood flowed. Muscles twitched. Neurons fired. Lungs worked like a bellows, pushing stale air out and drawing fresh back in, again and again and again.

My eyes slammed open.

Then I surged bolt upright with an animal yell.

A robed figure turned to regard me, its face blank and eyeless beneath a heavy cowl, and it spoke in a voice like the clanging of crypt doors.

"How may I serve you, Sojourner?" it asked calmly.


	56. Chapter 56

_All our times have come_   
_Here, but now they're gone_   
_Seasons don't fear the reaper_   
_Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain_

_(We can be like they are)_   
_Come on baby,_

_(Don't fear the reaper)_   
_Baby take my hand,_

_(Don't fear the reaper)_   
_We'll be able to fly,_

_(Don't fear the reaper)_   
_Baby I'm your man..._

_\- Blue Oyster Cult, "(Don't Fear) The Reaper"_

* * *

 

I stared at the figure, my heart thundering fit to beat a whole herd of racehorses. "Who the hell are you?" I screamed, thoroughly discombobulated.

The faceless figure cocked its head, as if considering whether or not to answer. "I am the Reaper," it said at last, and then went on, "I am the Gatherer of Dust. I am the Gatekeeper. And this is my realm."

I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know where I was. I didn't know how I'd gotten here. What memories I had of recent events…didn't explain any of this. As a matter of fact, they only made it _more_ confusing, not less.

I stared, wide-eyed, at the strange figure. "I-I was in Undrentide," I stammered blankly. "How-" Then, my heart skipping a beat, my hand shot to my chest, expecting to find a bloody, gaping hole in it still-

I stopped cold, and looked down, my mouth hanging open in uncomprehending shock.

I was still wearing my armor. There were several scales missing from all over my vest, many others that were all scraped and bent, and another few just above my right breast that looked like something sharp and pointy had punched straight through them. Beneath, the leather was punctured, and there was blood everywhere, but it was the rust-red of dried blood, not the ruby color of fresh, and it flaked off when I brushed it with my fingers, and none of this made any goddamned _sense_.

Shakily, not quite knowing what I'd find or how I'd react once I found it, I slid my fingers through the hole in my armor, feeling for I-didn't-even-know-what.

My armor was a mess, all scuffed and torn and covered in dust and glittering with a fine layer of what looked like crushed glass…but my skin was smooth and unbroken. I was breathing. I was alive.

Except that, by all rights, I shouldn't have been.

I looked up, my head reeling. "What the _hell_ just happened?" I demanded shrilly.

I heard a shriek, and then, before I could react, something catapulted into my side. "Boss!" it squealed, and swarmed into my arms, all bony limbs and scales and gleaming eyes and nonstop, joyful babble. "You're alive! And so is Deekin! Wow! This is so neat! What happened? Where are we? Where's Deekin's bag? Oh, here it is. Okay, where Deekin's quill? Oh, it in the bag. Hehe. How silly of Deekin. Nevermind. Hey, who be that? Wait - are you really okay? Only the last time Deekin see you, you weren't doing so hot-"

I stared down at the kobold, who'd plopped himself onto my lap and wrapped his scrawny arms around my neck. "Deeks," I said, my voice cracking slightly.

"What?"

I gathered him into my arms and pulled him to me so tightly that he squeaked. My eyes felt hot, and my throat was aching. "Shut the fuck up," I mumbled against the top of his scaled head.

The kobold relaxed. "Oh," he said, in a small, bemused voice. I felt him pat the back of my shoulder, very gently. "It be okay. Deekin glad to see you, too, Boss," he whispered.

After a minute, I recollected my wits enough to look up. I almost dropped Deekin in my haste to stand. "Xan- oh. Oh. There you are."

The sorcerer was sitting up. He blinked, several times, looking disoriented. "What in the-" he started. Then he looked down at me, alarmed. "Bloody Hells!" he barked. "No! No hugging! No-" He paused. After a moment, he heaved a sigh, and sat stiffly, enduring the hugging with an air of noble forbearance. "Blasted woman," he muttered.

I sniffled. I'd have blown my nose on the front of his robes, since it wasn't as if I could have ruined them even further than they'd already been, but he'd probably have strangled me anyway – and then stuck me with the dry-cleaning bill. "Jackass," I mumbled.

"Harpy."

"Asshole."

"Haughty shrew."

"Pompous jerk."

I felt his chest shake slightly in a laugh. "Xanos…is receiving mixed messages," he observed, a little thickly.

I laughed unsteadily and drew away. "Bastard," I said affectionately.

He slanted me a look from the corner of his golden eyes. "Did I already say harpy?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Ah." He paused meditatively. Then he cleared his throat and said, diffidently, "Were you aware that there is an individual with a very large scythe standing in the middle of this room?"

I glanced over at the so-called Reaper. It was just standing there, watching us. Granted, it was being very creepy about it, but I suspected that this so-called Reaper could look creepy skipping through a sunlit meadow, surrounded by frolicking woodland creatures and bluebirds and butterflies. Creepiness was practically built right into it, like dark hair was to me and or rampant curiosity was to Deekin or being obnoxious was to Xanos.

"Yeah," I said at last. "But it kind of slipped my mind."

"Hah! Many things do. You have a mind like a steel sieve, little sister."

I sighed, and crouched back on my heels. One of my loose scales finally gave up the ghost and tinkled to the stone floor. I glanced askance at the Reaper, who hadn't said a word through all of this. "Keep up the attitude, brother," I said drily. "I think you'll need it."

He smirked. "Xanos fully intends to."

"Good." Creakingly, I rose to my feet. My joints were feeling spectacularly stiff, as if they hadn't been used in a long, long time. To loosen them, I began to pace.

Relief at finding myself alive was quickly being subsumed by a gnawing disquiet. There was a bone-biting chill in this place, and it was unsettlingly weird, even by Faerunian standards. It was a long, rectangular stone chamber, its far corners shrouded in an icy mist, despite the braziers that glowed quietly along the walls. Worse than that, though, were the doors. They hung in midair, with nothing behind them but empty air, silently sneering at little things like gravity and common sense. Between the frames and some of the doors themselves, light flickered and pulsed. Others were dark. From yet others, mist crept from the cracks in the doorframes. I wasn't sure which was more disturbing, but if I could, I'd have awarded all three a gold ribbon for 'worst juju ever'.

I stopped before I got to those doors. Turned. Resumed my pacing. "Does anybody know what happened?" I asked tersely.

My question met with dead silence.

"Er," Deekin said eventually. "Deekin not sure, but-"

I finished the sentence for him. "I was dead," I said bluntly. The concept was so wild, so beyond my comprehension, that it was almost easy to make such a statement – as long as I didn't think about it too much.

Xanos's eyes darkened. He stood, slowly, moving like he was about eighty years old. "We all were," he said. His eyes lidded, uneasily. "Logically," he said, speaking slowly and with wary care, "None of us could have survived the city's fall."

The three of us exchanged glances. "So…how'd we end up here?" Deekin asked curiously. "And why are we alive? Not that Deekin complaining, mind you-"

For the first time in a while, the Reaper stirred, and spoke in his echoing, metallic voice. "It was the will of the Sojourner."

"Uh." Deekin blinked uncertainly. "O-kay. Who be that?"

The Reaper inclined its featureless cowl in my direction. "She is," it said simply.

Both Xanos and Deekin turned to stare at me incredulously. I, in my turn, shrugged, flushing. "Don't look at me," I muttered awkwardly. "I have no idea."

Xanos snorted. "This should come as a surprise to no one," he drawled, and looked at the Reaper speculatively. "What manner of being are you?" he asked abruptly, as if hoping to startle a straight answer out of the weird, cloaked figure.

Unfortunately, the Reaper didn't appear to be very startle-able. "I am the Reaper," it intoned tonelessly. "I am the Gatherer of Dust. I am the Gatekeeper."

The sorcerer scowled deeply. "That does not answer the question," he growled, yanking the collar of his robes straight. Given how torn and dusty and scorched they were, it seemed pointless to fuss over sartorial details, but he seemed to want to make the effort.

"It is the only answer I am able to give," the Reaper returned calmly.

"So how did we get here?" Deekin piped up persistently.

"It was the Sojourner's will that you accompany her."

I spun on my heel and snapped, " _What_ was my will? I don't remember any _will-_ "

"Nevertheless, it was your deepest will which bound them," the Reaper answered, still with the same measured, emotionless calm. "And, as you are tied to this place, they are tied to you. Thus, _they_ are tied to this place, for so long as it is your will that they be."

I stopped. "And where's this place, exactly?" I demanded.

"Nowhere, yet everywhere."

I clutched my hair. Only half an hour back from the dead, and already I was going out of my mind. I'll say one thing for it – at least death had been _relaxing_. Even if I couldn't really remember any of it. _Don't think about that,_ I told myself sharply. _First item of business: w_ _e're stuck in a seriously weird place and need to get out. Concentrate on that._ "Could you please skip the fucking riddles and give me a straight answer?" I complained.

The Reaper's empty cowl gave me what was, even for him, a very blank stare. "I do not understand," it said.

"Nevermind." I shook my head sharply and resumed my pacing. "Jesus. I _hate_ riddles."

Deekin watched me. He had sunk into his usual crouch, and was resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand, thoughtful. "Let Deekin try, Boss," he suggested, and cocked his head at the Reaper. " _What_ is this place?" the kobold asked carefully.

The Reaper replied promptly. "It is a nexus realm."

The kobold blinked. "O-kay," he said evenly. "So. Uh. What's a nexus realm?"

Xanos spoke up. "A central point in planar space which connects all of a set of other, related points. In the greatest of nexuses, this set includes all points within the multiverse," he said, rubbing his chin. " _If_ I recall my planar theory correctly," he added, and preened, flicking a loose thread from what remained of his sleeve, "…which, needless to say, I do."

"Yes," the Reaper agreed mechanically. "Nowhere, yet everywhere."

I stopped to stare at them, uncomprehending. "Which means?" I prompted impatiently.

"It touches on all places within this realm's reach where you have been, are, or, and will be," the Reaper told me.

I resumed my pacing. "Okay," I said, with what I thought was admirable restraint. "So why am I _here_?"

"You are tied to this place, as am I. Upon your death, you returned to it."

I snorted. "That's nonsense. I've never been here before in my life."

I must have been imagining the faint flicker of humor in the Reaper's dead voice. "Correct," it said blandly.

I shook my head and spun on my heel. "This is too weird," I muttered. "This is too fucking weird." I looked up hopefully. "Deeks? Xanos? You two are the brains of this operation. Any bright ideas?"

Deekin scratched the side of his snout pensively. "How do we get out of here?" he ventured a question to the Reaper.

The Reaper replied almost instantly. Maybe it liked the little kobold – or may be Deekin just asked better questions. "By the Sojourner's will," it said. "She bears the mark of the relic. So long as she holds it, she commands this place."

I looked over sharply. "What the hell's this relic you're talking about?" I asked. "Now I _know_ you're screwing with us. I don't have anything like that."

The Reaper returned my sharp stare, meeting it with smooth blankness. "You touched the relic," it said. "You bear the mark."

The fingers on my left hand curled in towards my palm, almost involuntarily. Somewhere in my memory, I heard a feminine voice, deep and elegant, echoing something about me being _marked._ And… _was_ it my imagination, or was that little scar on my palm itching again?

Xanos grunted thoughtfully. "Does she command you, as well?" he asked the Reaper.

The Reaper's head swung towards the half-orc. "As this realm was created, so was I created with it," it said, without inflection. "We are the same, one an extension of the other."

The sorcerer lifted one sharp black eyebrow. "By this, you mean to infer that you _are_ this place," he mused.

The Reaper's robotic inflection didn't change. "Correct."

Xanos continued, following some train of logic that had left _me_ behind at the last switchback. "Therefore, if she commands this place, she also commands you," he concluded. He seemed inordinately pleased with his own thinking, because he was smirking like a cat that had just caught a canary.

The Reaper nodded briefly. The gesture was almost respectful. "Also correct," it said.

Deekin giggled. "Wow, Boss," he marveled. "You got your very own plane. How'd you do that?"

I thought of dark altars, and relics, and my bad habit of wandering into places where I really shouldn't. "Um. I don't know," I said lamely. "Accident?"

Xanos smacked his forehead with an open palm. "I do not believe it," he moaned to himself. "I _cannot_ believe it. For ages, scholars have striven - have died trying! - to gain mastery over their own pocket planes. They have delved into the very substance of reality, learning through patient study and seasoned intellect how to shape reality to do their bidding, and so many have failed, even so - and you!" He stabbed an accusing finger at me, his eyes blazing. "You cretinous madwoman! _You_ have bumbled into it by pure, idiot luck!" he erupted. Despairingly, he threw his hands into the air. "Bah! I give up! Done! Finished! There _is_ no justice in this world! None, I tell you!"

I decided not to argue. The sorcerer's eyes had acquired a fiery greenish sheen, and it was probably a wise idea to let him cool down - before he set my hair on fire. "Let's focus on the matter at hand, shall we?" I suggested brightly. "Portals, Xanos. Portals."

Deekin perked up. "Oh! Oh! Deekin has it!" he crowed, raising his hand eagerly and bouncing up and down on his toes. He grinned hopefully at the Reaper. "Can Boss…uh, that is, can the Sojourner tell you to open a portal back to her home?" he asked.

The Reaper hesitated. "I…cannot," it said at last. "This nexus does not lie within reach of that region of the Prime Material Plane."

I froze in mid-pace, my boot hovering above the ground. _Oh, shit,_ I thought _. Did he just say what I think he just said?_

Xanos's head snapped around. "What?" he barked imperiously. "Do you mean to say that this place does not connect to Abeir-Toril?"

"It does," the Reaper replied.

At that, Xanos's eyes settled on me, narrowing in sudden speculation. "So…what region of the Prime Material Plane _does_ this 'Sojourner' call home?" he asked slowly.

I could have kneecapped him happily right then and there. That fucking half-orc was too smart for his own good.

The Reaper's cowled head swung to face me. It seemed to mull for longer than usual over its next reply. "It is not the Sojourner's will that I answer this question," it said, after a short pause.

 _Thank god. I think._ Creepy or not, the Reaper'd covered my ass somewhat, but I couldn't let Xanos get the bit between his teeth. If he and Deekin knew one piece of my past, they'd inevitably drag the other pieces out of me, and then they'd find out where I came from…and what I'd done. What I'd _been,_ before all of this _._ How could they know? What would they think of me, if they did? Just the thought of it made me squirm. "Can you open a portal to Abeir-Toril?" I asked the Reaper abruptly.

"Yes."

"Okay. Where?"

"Anywhere of your choosing, Sojourner, as long as it is a place in which you have been, are, or will be."

"That seems pretty reasonable." I looked over my shoulder in mid-pace. "Guys?"

Deekin peered at me. "Uh," he said hesitantly. "Boss? About that whole…other region of the Prime Material Plane thing-"

I interrupted him, talking fast. "That…Reaper talks in riddles," I said curtly. "Ignore it. We've got better things to worry about. The question is, do we risk trusting it enough to walk through any portal it opens, and, if so, where do we go?

This question distracted them, at least momentarily, which was already better than having them ask uncomfortable questions about _me._

"Hilltop?" Xanos suggested. "We should…we should get word to the others." His voice faltered. "About…the dwarf."

Deekin brightened up. "Oh, that be easy!" he said cheerfully. "Deekin been writing all about it, and he has his book all ready to go! Er. It just needs some final editing, maybe. And a publisher. And a distributor. Hmm. Maybe Deekin got a little further to go than he thought." He scratched his neck. "And, uh. _This_ be pretty neat, but Deekin not sure what to write about the whole dying thing. Getting squished by a city…that not be very heroic. No offense, Boss."

"None taken," I replied absent-mindedly. I stopped. Turned. Paced. "What about Garrick?" I asked suddenly. "When we left, he was heading for the Aoist encampment, along with Katriana and the crew. You think he might still be there?"

Xanos grunted sourly. "What, that blabbering fool of an archaeologist?"

"He said that he had some kind of spell to put him in touch with other Harpers-"

"Bah! To the Nine Hells with the Harpers! Did they bother to lend a hand to clear this mess they caused? No? Then why should we share any of our hard-won knowledge with them?"

"Because none of us have any better ideas?" I replied pointedly. That shut him up. "Look, I don't like it, either, but if the Harpers' information network is as good as everyone says, we might as well use it. Besides," I added, less harshly. "Drogan probably still has friends there. I…I think they have a right to know what's happened."

The sorcerer rolled his eyes. "Very well," he sniffed. "Though Xanos would like to state, for the record, that he thinks you are making a very large mistake. It is unwise in the extreme to get involved with those fools."

I smiled at him blandly. "I wasn't really planning on getting involved with them," I said. "I was going to let Garrick do that." I turned. "Deeks? How about you?"

The kobold shrugged. "Sure, why not?" he asked rhetorically. "Deekin not mind seeing what the Aoists all about." He grinned. "Besides, it not like he gonna be missing any appointments or anything," he added. "Go ahead, Boss. Deekin be game for it."

I thought a moment longer, my arms crossed over my chest and my fingers drumming on my forearm. "All right," I said eventually, and, taking a deep breath, I turned my attention to the Reaper. "How does this work?" I asked it curtly, not looking into its empty cowl. The blank blackness behind it gave me the screaming heebie jeebies.

"You command," the Reaper said simply. "I obey."

I hesitated, looking to the others. "Well?" I said.

Xanos raised an eyebrow at me. "What? You are the noblewoman," he said mockingly. "Giving commands should come quite naturally to you."

My lips twitched. "I'll get you for that, sorcerer."

He returned my look with a sardonic one of his own. "Xanos will await your attempts at retaliation with glee," he retorted.

I snorted and spun away on my heel, suddenly decisive. "All right," I told the Reaper. "Open a portal to the Aoist encampment, in the Anauroch."

It bowed from the waist, very slightly. "As you wish," it said.

For a moment, nothing happened, and I began to think that the Reaper had somehow misunderstood me.

Then Deekin cleared his throat. "Uh, Boss," he said, and pointed. "Behind you."

I spun. One of the doors had opened, the stone swinging as soundlessly as a thought.

On the other side, bathed in a weird, coruscating glow, I thought I saw sand, and, beyond it, a pair of wooden gates.

I stared at it. Every time I'd gone through a portal, I'd passed out. It wasn't an experience I cared to repeat.

Then again, if the alternative was staying here, well, just punch me up another ticket for sleepyland.

"Well," I said eventually, and cast around for Silent Partner. It was lying right where I'd woken up, looking more or less the same as ever, though there were a few scratches on the mithril where, before, it had always been perfectly smooth. I tried not to think of what could possibly have left scratches on _mithril_. "Come on if you're coming," I added, propping the quarterstaff comfortably against my shoulder.

Then, before I could reconsider, I gritted my teeth and stepped _through_.

The next thing I knew, I was face down in some sand, and there was a lot of shouting going on around me.

 _Ah,_ I thought, and spat out a mouthful of sand. _Just like old times._

Running footsteps approached. "Hold!" someone barked. Swords rang out of their sheaths. "What mischief is this?"

I rolled over just to find a sword being pointed at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Xanos and Deekin were in more or less the same predicament. "Oh, put that thing down, you moron!" I snapped, suddenly irritated beyond belief. We hadn't come this far just to have some self-important jerkoffs wave their pigstickers in our faces. "We're here to see Garrick."

The men surrounding us exchanged glances. The sword that was pointing at my chest wavered. "The mage?" one asked.

"If you want to call him that, yeah."

The man standing over me scowled uncertainly. "What is your purpose in coming here?" he demanded.

"I just told you. Now, if you took your brain out of your scabbard, you might even be able to hear me."

"Mind your tongue, woman. Insolence will get you nowhere."

"Why not? It's gotten me this far." I looked up at his face and sighed. I held my hands up, slowly, showing that I wasn't carrying anything, and, even if I was, I didn't see how he thought I'd be able to attack him from flat on my back. He obviously didn't know me, if he expected me to pull _that_ kind of an acrobatic maneuver. "Look, just send someone to go get him, and I'm sure we can straighten this all out-"

"Wait!" one of guardsmen exclaimed. I saw him lower his sword, his eyes widening with excitement. "I have seen that woman before! Is she-"

Babble broke out. "She is. I recall her face – and that zalantar staff," another agreed suddenly, and, as quickly as that, the swords were taken away, and I felt a dozen pairs of eyes on me. "And if she is not, I would recognize that greenskin anywhere," he added, with a short laugh. "'Tisn't often you see one o' them wearin' the robes of a mage."

Xanos was on his feet, glowering down at the ring of swords that had surrounded him. "Xanos does not see any of _you_ wearing the robes of a mage, either," he muttered scathingly. "Knuckle-dragging lackwits," he added under his breath, though I was pretty sure no one but me could hear him.

The atmosphere shifted. "We all felt it when that city fell," remarked one of the guardsman curiously, helping me up. "We thought you were dead."

My friends and I looked at each other. _So,_ I thought. _Who's going to be the first to say it?_

Unsurprisingly, it was Deekin. "Actually, we were," he said, altogether too perkily. Then he flashed a wide, toothy grin. "But we're feeling much better now," he added.

I'm not sure who started it. I think it might have been Xanos, who began to make an erratic snorting noise. It was followed shortly thereafter by a scratchy, tentative little _scree-scree_ noise from Deekin, which made _me_ start to splutter.

And then it turned into giggles, and then into guffaws, and then we were laughing, all of us sprawled out on the sand and hooting like a trio of deranged hyenas.

The guardsmen shifted uneasily. "Are they mad?" one asked warily.

"They came through a portal," another said dubiously. He eyed me. "I've heard that teleportation takes some folk that way."

I grinned up at him. "Hey," I said. "It's better than flying coach."

Then I fell back down to the sandy ground and laughed until tears streamed down my face.

 _We made it,_ I thought, gasping for breath in between delirious gales of laughter.

_We're home._


	57. Chapter 57

_I go_  
Where I please  
  
_In a little while_  
I'll be gone  
The moment's already passed  
Yeah it's gone  
And I'm not here  
  
_\- Radiohead, "How to Disappear Completely"_

* * *

 

I stared at Garrick, open-mouthed. "Two months?!" I exclaimed.

The mage winced. "Ah…yes. Yes, I am afraid so," he said diffidently, and cleared his throat. He held out a small, battered silver bowl. "Sugar?" he asked hopefully.

I kept staring at him. "Two _months_?" I repeated. My voice rose up to an incredulous squeak at the very end.

"Yes. I, ah...to be honest, we all rather thought you were dead-"

" _Two months?!"_

The teacup rattled in its saucer. "Be calm, dear lady!" Garrick begged placatingly, thrusting the teacup at me as if it were a peace offering to an angry volcano goddess. "Please! I beg of you! It is not so bad as all that-"

I waved away the proffered teacup and sagged back in my chair. "Two damned _months,_ " I said disbelievingly. Then, sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair – blessedly clean again, for what seemed like the first time in, well, _months_ – and glanced around the room morosely. "Isn't there anything to drink around here?" The mage in front of me held up the teapot with an expression of bright and helpful inquiry. "No. Thanks, Garrick, but that's not the kind of drink I had in mind."

Garrick raised his eyebrows. They were finely arched, thin, and grey, which presented an interesting contrast to his hair, which was grey at the roots and white at the tips and stook out haphazardly in all directions. The archaeologist's hair always seemed look as if he spent a good hour every morning rubbing his head with a balloon. "Well," he said, after a moment. "The Aoists do make what is rumored to be a very fine sacramental wine – although I do not believe that they make it available to the general public."

"Oh," I said grimly. "They'll make it available, all right. They'll make it available if I have to buy the whole damned temple out from under them, along with everything in it." I slumped even further in my chair, my chin sinking glumly to my chest. "Christ," I mumbled. "Two months." Where had I been? I remembered how dusty and beat-up my armor had been, when I'd woken up in the Reaper's gatehouse – like it had been buried under a heap of rubble and broken glass. Except that I'd still been wearing it. Which meant that _I_ had been buried under…

_Don't go there._ I sat up so suddenly that I nearly made Garrick dump his tea in his lap. "Did you get in touch with…whoever it was you had to get in touch with?" I asked vaguely.

The archaelogist dabbed some tea from his chin. "For the most part, yes," he said, seeming more comfortable now that he was back on familiar ground and no longer had to be the bearer of bad news. "Those who needed to know of these events now know. As for Drogan's old friends…" The mage trailed off with a sigh. Sadness suffused his face. "They know," he said. "And if they do not already know, Ayala will tell them." He paused. His face brightened slightly. "Oh! Yes. Yes, that reminds me. She expressed a desire to meet you-"

I stilled. "Is she that scout friend of Drogan's you mentioned earlier?" I asked casually.

"Among others, yes."

"Oh." I mulled that over. "I see. When do you think they'll be here?"

"Within the next tenday, I would imagine."

"Oh." Absently, I picked up my teacup and took a sip. Then I swallowed and tried desperately to control my face, so as not to hurt Garrick's feelings. Not only was it oversteeped, but it was cold. How the hell did tea get cold in the damned _desert_? I sighed, and put the cup back down, rising from my chair with my fixed, press-secretary smile. "Well, I look forward to meeting them," I said smoothly. What else could I say? The truth?

Xanos, I decided as I left Garrick's tent, wasn't going to be happy about this. Then again, neither was I. It was one thing to pass the news of Drogan's death on and run, but if a semi-secret agency that had its fingers in just about every aspect of Faerunian intrigue and politics was sending several of its agents _here_ , no doubt they were bound to try to pin us down and start asking uncomfortable questions – questions which I wasn't sure I felt like answering.

To make things worse, Katriana had given up on us not long after Undrentide fell, so we couldn't even claim sanctuary with our friends in the caravan. If we were going to dodge the Harpers, it'd have to be done quietly, and by ourselves.

No. While I was sure that just about anything that gave him a chance to talk about his book would be okay with Deekin, Xanos _definitely_ wasn't going to be happy about this.

Later that evening, the half-orc in question barged into the tent that the Aoists had given to me and him and Deekin. Xanos didn't even bother to knock – although, in his defense, it was damned hard to knock on canvas. Not that this would have mattered. There was probably just something in his genetic makeup that made bodyslamming his way through doors a much more attractive option than anything so discreet and limp-wristed as _knocking_.

"To the Abyss with this cursed heat," he grumbled, and swept majestically across the room to throw himself down into the only available armchair, which buckled slightly. "Black God's Balls!" the sorcerer roared, clutching at the arms of the chair. Cautiously, he peered over the edge of it. "What is this blasted thing made of? Paper?"

I glanced up at him, smirking. Unobtrusively, I folded the parchment which I'd had spread out on the table in front of me, and slipped it beneath a tangle of necklaces. "Maybe you shouldn't have eaten that entire goat all by yourself," I joked.

"Pfft." The sorcerer waved his hand dismissively. "It was a very small goat."

"Are you kidding me? Deekin could've saddled that thing and ridden it like a pony."

"Unlikely," the sorcerer disagreed sourly. "That is, unless that damned lizard has now discovered how to resurrect the dead."

The silence that settled over us then was pregnant, and spawned a whole lot of awkward little baby silences after it. Neither of us quite knew how to break it, or what to say, or how to say it in a way that didn't actually acknowledge the fact that ' _the dead'_ was more than likely what _we_ had been for the past two months.

_Two months,_ I thought bleakly. _Two months have gone by since Undrentide fell, and I don't remember_ any _of it._ That wasn't quite true, though. I did remember a few strange flashes – moonlight, and aimless wandering, and, for some reason, feathers – but none of those things explained what had happened to me during those two lost months. If anything, they only raised more questions, not fewer.

Eventually, I dragged my brain back from its grim maunderings. Stubbornly, I forced my hands to move, and began sorting coins into three equal piles. "Garrick says that he's done sending word to everyone he can think of," I announced, a little too casually.

The sorcerer snorted and rolled his eyes. "Oh. Excellent," he said, his voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. "Just what Xanos has always wanted. His very own battalion of hyper-inquisitive busybodies, come to stick their noses into places where they do not belong and are most emphatically _not welcome_." He bared his teeth. Thanks to his orcish blood, he had a very impressive set of canines. This made his grin into something that, had it been aimed at me, would have given me second thoughts about the wisdom of sticking my nose into places where it was likely to get bitten off. "How delightful."

I grinned back at him crookedly. On the table, I began sorting out jewelry, picking out a few pieces I thought were most easily saleable and adding them to the stacks of coins. "And here I thought that the idea of being surrounded by Harpers might appeal to you," I remarked mockingly.

"Hah! Only as a form of Hell."

I laughed. "Yeah," I agreed. I began scooping everything, coins and jewelry and all, into three separate pouches, and cinching the pouches shut. "So, we'd better clear out soon, unless you'd like to get the full work-up from Faerun's very own pre-eminent intelligence organization," I suggested blandly.

Xanos leveled a curious stare at the piles of equipment and half-made packs that surrounded me. "I gather that this is why you have begun packing."

I didn't reply immediately. First, I leaned over to stuff the remainder of the jewelry back in my pack, along with the folded piece of parchment. While there, I slipped a small, waxed-paper packet out of an outer pocket and into my palm, concealing it up my linen shirtsleeve. "It doesn't hurt to have everything ready," I said, sitting back up. I avoided his eyes, turning my attention instead to portioning out a roll of bandages. "Garrick said that the Harpers should be here within the tenday. If we want to move, we should probably make it soon."

Xanos rubbed his chin pensively. "Xanos supposes that now you will ask him to go retrieve the lizard, out of this misguided belief of yours that it is somehow valuable to confer with bards on matters of any importance whatsoever," he said flatly.

"Yep. Would you, please?"

The sorcerer sighed. He levered himself out of his chair and fastidiously tugged his new robes straight. "I hate you," he said without rancor, and started for the door.

I chuckled quietly. "No, you don't."

"Oh, yes, I do."

"Oh, now you're just a big, fat liar."

The tent flap twitched aside. A narrow reptilian face peeked in. "Hey, that not nice!" Deekin exclaimed. "Green man not a liar!"

It took Xanos a second to work through the implications of that statement, and another second for him to figure out that he'd just been gratuitously insulted. Then his face went plum-colored. "Why, you little-" He lunged for Deekin, who scampered out of the way, giggling.

I sighed. "Settle down, children," I said mildly. I stood, giving Deekin a quick once-over. The only thing he was carrying was his ubiquitous blue bag, but that didn't mean anything. He could've fit a horse in there, probably without even shoving. "Did you get it?" I asked.

The kobold grinned toothily. "Yep!" he said, and stuck a hand into his bag. A brief rummage produced a purple glass bottle, which he held aloft triumphantly. "Easy as pie!" he proclaimed. "Deekin just waited until the priests be busy trying to stop the ex-Loviatarite guy from flogging himself again. Eugh. Messy. Good distraction, though, so Deekin not complaining." He thrust the bottle at me. "Here you go, Boss!"

I swallowed, staring at the bottle. Then, biting back a sigh, I took it from the little bard's outstretched hands. "Perfect," I said simply, and turned towards the table. "Thanks, Deeks. I appreciate it." I set the bottle down. After a brief hesitation, I scooped up the three money pouches. Then I turned and adroitly tossed them to the others, adding, "Why don't you two count these for me? I want to be sure they're even."

"Aww. We trust you, Boss!"

"You may trust _her_ , but it would be unwise in the extreme to trust her mathematical skills," Xanos muttered. He carried the pouch over to the chair and sat, rather more gingerly this time. For his part, Deekin just plopped down on the floor, undid the pouch's string, and emptied the money all over the ground.

The air was filled with the happy tinkle of money. I ignored it. Even if I'd honestly given a flying leap whether or not my count was off by a coin or two, I had too much on my mind at the moment to spare it any thought.

There were three cups. I supposed it would have been more appropriate to enjoy our purloined sacramental wine in some kind of stemware, but burglars couldn't be choosers.

I poured the wine. I stared at the wine. I was sorely tempted to drink the wine, all of it, right out of the bottle, but that would probably have attracted a little too much attention, even from a pair of people who were used to my drinking habits.

Briefly, I closed my eyes. _Now or never,_ I thought grimly.

Then, keeping my hands right in front of me, where the other two couldn't see them, I shook the little waxed-paper packet out of my sleeve and into my palm.

The powder in it dissolved almost instantly in the wine.

That done, I turned around and stepped forward. "Here," I said, and thrust the cups into my friends' hands. I might have made my decision, but I didn't have to pretend to be happy about it. "Enjoy your after-dinner drinks, boys," I added, and turned around. "If any Aoists stop by, just pretend it's mint tea or something."

Then I stood at the table, drained my own cup, and waited.

Shortly thereafter, I heard a pair of thumps – one light, and one much heavier.

_Shit,_ I thought with a resigned sigh.

I turned, and surveyed my handiwork.

They were out cold.

I crossed the carpet to Deekin and knelt, blinking into my second sight. His pulse was strong and regular. I'd gotten the dosage right. _Good,_ I thought, and stroked his sleeping head. His scales rasped beneath my fingers. "Sleep tight, sweetie," I whispered, and dropped a kiss to his head. "I'll miss you."

Then I turned to Xanos.

The sorcerer's pulse was just as steady, but he'd fallen into a rather ungraceful heap at the foot of his chair. I stared at him, and then sighed, closing my eyes briefly. _Damn it,_ I thought, and unraveled a thread of power from its place beneath my heart, shoving it down into my muscles. That done, I bent over and gently hauled my friend into a more dignified, or least a more _comfortable,_ position. "Jackass," I muttered, and I wasn't sure whether I was talking to him or to myself. He actually looked peaceful, which was unusual, for him. Then again, it was unusual for me, too.

_He really is the brother I never had, isn't he?_ I reflected, looking down at the slumbering sorcerer. Maybe he was a brother in the spirit rather than in the flesh…but, in the end, those details didn't really matter, did they? All right, so he'd gotten all of the brains in the family, and I'd gotten all of the looks, but aside from that, we were practically two peas in a pod. Who'd have thought than an ex-heiress and a disgruntled half-orc could have had so much in common?

_Still...being an only child was easier._ I swallowed the lump in my throat, and bent over to drop a light kiss on Xanos's cheek. It was a liberty he'd never have allowed me to take while he was awake, but he couldn't stop me from taking it now. "Sleep well, big brother," I murmured into his ear. "God knows you're going to want to kill me when you wake up, oh, a day or two from now, so enjoy the nap while it lasts."

Then, reluctantly, I stood.

I had to work quickly, before anyone else came in here and noticed that there was something funny going on.

First I took one of the three pouches, and split most of its contents evenly between the other two. Then I weighed what remained of the third pouch in my hand. _Should be enough,_ I decided. Hopefully, I wouldn't need much, and if I did, I still had the rest of mom's old jewelry to keep me going. I'd just make it clear to whatever shopkeeper I pawned it off on that he'd be getting an impromptu colonoscopy-by-quarterstaff if he even thought about spreading the news about my little stash.

Straps creaked and pulled taut. Buckles snapped. Mail jingled, albeit a little less loudly than usual. I hadn't been able to replace all of the scales that I'd lost from my mail when Undrentide fell on me, but what I had was just going to have to suffice, for now.

I hoisted my pack onto my shoulders, swung my cloak on above that, picked up Silent Partner, and then that was it. I was ready to go.

I stopped, looking back over the tent. Everything was quiet. Everything was in order. Xanos and Deekin had enough supplies to tide them over, wherever they decided to go. I'd seen to that. I might have been leaving them, but at least I wasn't leaving them high and dry. I owed them that much. Hell - I owed them more than I was giving them, but I couldn't stay. I had unfinished business to take care of, and it was nothing they had to get involved with.

Though it would have been nice to have them along. The road was going to be very lonely without them.

_I'm stalling,_ I thought, and gave myself a mental kick. _Come on, Rebecca. Move._

Before I left, I pulled the scrap of parchment out of my pocket, unfolded it, and laid it in the center of the table, where it would be out in plain sight. To be certain, I placed my empty cup on the corner of the paper, so it wouldn't blow away.

Then I turned, and I left.

I didn't have to re-read what I'd written. By now, the words were practically seared into my brain.

_I'm not from around here,_ my letter began.

_Since you're both too damned smart for your own good, I have no doubt that you've reached that conclusion on your own by now._

_You're right. I'm from a different world, another corner of the Prime. The specifics don't really matter. What matters is that I have to go back now._

_I left a lot of unfinished business behind me when I left home. Now I need to set it right. I've got a portal waiting for me somewhere, and the two of you can't walk through it. Your place, unlike mine, is here._

_Xanos, my brother. Drogan thought your life was worth saving. So do I. Be what you are, not what you think the world expects you to be. When you start to have second thoughts about that, remember that there have been at least two people in your life who've loved you just the way you are – barbs and all._

_Deekin, my little bard. I'll miss your pernicious goddamned curiousity. I'll even miss your singing – god knows I've never heard anything quite like it. You're braver than you think you are, and smarter than anyone gives you credit for. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise._

_I guess there's not much else to say. I'll be gone by the time you're awake – don't worry. It's easier this way._

_Be good, boys, and if you can't be good, at least be clever._

_I'll leave you with a little phrase from the home country:_

_Peace out._

_P.S.: Sorry about drugging your wine._

Before I reached the gates, I veered off towards a cluster of Aoists that were gathered around one of the campfires, chatting quietly. Once there, I drew to a halt and smiled at one of its members. "Elgin," I said warmly, and stepped up, laying my hand on the bewildered man's back. "I'm just stealing him for a second," I said over my shoulder at the other Aoists, and steered Elgin away adroitly.

Once we were out of sight as well as earshot, I turned to face him. "Do you remember that conversation we had this morning, about Oghmite monasteries and where to find them?" I asked, still smiling. It had been a stroke of luck, finding out that some of the clerical converts in this camp still kept a few of their old connections - and weren't necessarily all that loyal to their former colleagues.

He blinked, and looked back and forth warily. "A-aye?" he stammered.

I took a step closer, and wrapped my hand around the back of his neck. "I want you to forget all about it," I breathed, and leaned away again, lifting my hand to dangle a pretty diamond choker in front of his face. "If anyone asks, we never spoke," I told him calmly. "Understand?" He nodded, the sparkle of the necklace reflecting in his wide eyes. "Good," I said, and patted him on the cheek. "Thanks. You've been a real treasure."

The gate guards let me pass without argument. I let them watch me go. By the time Xanos and Deekin were awake enough to ask questions, I'd be long gone.

Beyond the gates, I turned to look back at my footprints, clearly outlined in the sand.

I breathed in. _I'm sorry,_ I thought, and exhaled, feeling a cool sigh of power pass between my parted lips.

A night wind rose over the sand, and blew away all trace of my passage.


	58. Chapter 58

The great iron doors opened at my knock. An Oghmite monk emerged, blinking in the sunlight.

I smiled in greeting, held up Shaundakul's symbol where the monk could see it, and said, "Good morning, brother. I'm looking for some information."

The monk ran his hand over his tonsured head, studying my holy symbol. "Well met, Windwalker," he said simply, and stepped aside to let me pass. "Information about what subject, if I may ask?" he inquired politely.

"About portals," I said, stepping into the long, dim hall. It smelled like old books.

The monk nodded, and took a lantern down from the wall, beckoning for me to follow him. "Right this way."

He led me to a shelf-lined, book-crammed room that looked pretty much like all of the others we'd passed along the way. Once there, he explained their filing system, pointed me to an empty table, bowed, and left.

Periodically, the monks brought me things to eat and drink, and asked me if they could help me narrow down my search. I rather liked them. They were polite, helpful, and many of the older ones had an air of gentle, absent-minded tranquility that reminded me a little of Harry.

I smiled, thanked them for the food, and blithely waved away their offers of help. I had faith that I'd find what I was looking for eventually, and the truth of my origins was a piece of knowledge of which, I decided, the lorekeepers of Oghma could remain blissfully ignorant.

My eyes adjusted to the dim light. My lungs got used to breathing in the dusty smell of old books. My back ached from long hours spent huddled over the reading table. Uneaten food piled up, and was whisked away by soft-footed monks.

Eventually, I found what I was looking for, tucked into the back of some kind of treatise on the origins of Gondian firepowder - whatever _that_ was. There had been rumors of strange men who had come out of a pile of stones, and who carried even stranger weapons.

They'd died, eventually, and in spite of their superior firepower. Their bodies had been found, their strange weapons scavenged. I imagined that they'd been eaten by something, though the details weren't really specified - not that they were important. This was Toril, after all, and it held plenty of nasty surprises for out-of-world visitors. I should know. The only thing I was really curious about was _when_ they'd come through, and just how surprised they'd been when they'd figured out that they _really_ weren't in Kansas anymore. Unfortunately, the little scrap of paper didn't say.

Calmly, because if I started getting too excited now they might as well just lock me in a padded cell and throw away the key, I unrolled my map. Then I laid it beside the faded little scrap of parchment for a side-by-side comparison.

 _X marks the spot,_ I thought wrily. _Figures._ Then, just as calmly, I rerolled my map, tucked it back into its waterproof tube, thanked the lorekeepers for their hospitality, and left.

After I'd gone, I sat down on the long, terraced steps leading up to the temple and looked around, taking in the view.

I could see the dull brown expanse of the Anauroch to the west, and to the east, the rolling fields and forests of the Dalelands. A row of white clouds marched along the horizon, and the air tasted like spring.

I breathed the fresh air in as deeply as I could, and I decided that if never had to open another goddamned book for the rest of my natural life, I'd be all that much happier.

Then I stood up, hoisted my pack, and made my way back down the mountain.

Somewhere between the foothills of the Desertsmouth mountains and Shadowdale, I realized that, map or no map, I was lost.

When I came to that realization, I stopped, made camp, sat down on a log, and thought about what to do next.

It wasn't quite accurate to say that I was lost. I knew exactly where I was. What I didn't know was where the portal I was hunting happened to be relative to where I was. The information I'd been able to gather had been vague, the text had obviously been old, and none of the landmarks mentioned in it seemed to be here anymore.

In hindsight, I should probably have made a copy of the text to take with me. I hadn't wanted to ask for permission to copy it and subsequently betray my interest in it. My long habit of keeping secrets had obviously bitten me in the ass once again.

Eventually, I made myself stop worrying about the problem. I decided to sleep on it. Worst came to worst, I'd veer off for the nearest town and ask for directions, or for another temple full of helpful scholars.

When I woke, it was to see a very large, very damp black nose hovering a few inches in front of my own.

I froze in the process of sitting up. "Uh," I said stupidly. I blinked, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes. "Hello?"

A liquid black eye regarded me. It was framed with long, dark lashes, and was set in a sweet, furry, golden-brown face. As I stared, the creature twitched a pair of floppy, vaguely kite-shaped ears at me and made a noise that sounded like a cross between a goose's honk and a foghorn.

It seemed to be waiting for something. Also, it was affectionately lipping the neck of my blouse, which was a mite disconcerting.

The word _deer_ went through my sleep-fogged brain, searching for something to connect with.

 _Deer…deer…dear…my dear…oh. Oh, god. My_ deer _Rebecca._

I stared up at the deer. "Of all the gods in all of Toril," I said meditatively. "I just _had_ to end up with the one who likes making bad puns."

The doe bobbed her head and chuffed happily at me, spraying me with a fine mist of saliva.

Eventually, I persuaded the animal to stop nuzzling me long enough to let me get up, wash, and pack up my little camp. Then, just to be sure, I showed the deer my holy symbol before following her.

She contemplated it thoughtfully, for a long minute. Then her long pink tongue swiped out and licked the heavy silver amulet.

I held the amulet up. It was glistening. "So," I said to it, severely. "You think this is funny, do you?"

Shaundakul didn't reply. Not that I'd really expected him to. He'd made it clear that the gods – or, at least, _this_ god in particular – helped those who helped themselves.

And, promise or no promise, I suspected that he wasn't going to make this _too_ easy on me.

The doe picked her way into the forest, stopping after several yards to look over her shoulder at me with an attitude of patient expectation.

I sighed. "I'm coming, I'm coming," I told her. "Keep your panties on." Then, determinedly, I hitched my pack higher up on my shoulders, took up Silent Partner, and followed the deer into the deep, dark woods.

The deer bounded ahead of me, occasionally stopping to crop a few tender leaves from some low-lying shrubs, or to sidle back to me and stare at me with those huge, liquid eyes of hers.

One of those times, I finally reached out. My fingers encountered warm, velvety fur. The deer looked at me, briefly, and then lowered her head to resume her grazing, as unconcerned as if I were no more than a stray breeze wafting through the trees.

I'd never been this close to such an animal before, much less had it trust me enough to allow me to touch it, as if being stroked by strange humans was no big thing.

 _Shaundakul,_ I thought. He'd sent the deer to me. She must have trusted him, because she had come to find me willingly enough. And he must have trusted me, because he wouldn't have sent a vulnerable animal like this to someone who would have hurt her. And _she_ obviously trusted me, because I'd been vouched for by someone _she_ trusted – which was why I was standing there, gently running my fingers along her shoulder and thinking in circles.

 _Trust and faith, faith and trust,_ I thought distantly. It all seemed to be connected, sooner or later. Maybe they were one and the same, and you couldn't really have one without the other.

A twig cracked, somewhere, and startled the doe, making her lift her head and cast around in alarm, her ears flicking.

Then, quick as a flash, she bounded away, her white tail a flitting splash of brightness against the deep green shade of the forest.

I stood, my hand still outstretched, and watched her go.

Then, because she'd stopped to wait for me by the bole of a blueleaf tree, I shook off my contemplations and followed her, Silent Partner tapping hollowly against the loam.

A few days passed, in that way, with the doe leading me by day and, by night, lying on the opposite side of the campfire with her long legs tucked neatly beneath her and a haze of sleepy contentment in her eyes. She was pleasant company - quiet, easy to feed, and, during the chill of the early spring night, good to huddle against for warmth. She _was_ , however, a bit whiffy on the nose. I was grateful that there seemed to be plenty of woodland streams to bathe in.

Eventually, the forest opened into a clearing.

The doe picked her way delicately through the long grass, her head bobbing. I followed.

She led me to the center of the clearing, and then stopped, looking up at a hulking, ivy-covered heap of stone.

There was a strange feeling to the clearing. It was quiet, without any of the usual woodland noises, and the air felt thick and peculiarly golden, as if the entire place had been dipped in honey.

I crossed the intervening space slowly, a puzzling sense of bone-deep _familiarity_ creeping up on me.

Behind me, I thought I heard a soft breeze whisper through the trees, murmuring a requiem for all of the lost and forgotten places of the world.

Reaching up, I grabbed a handful of ivy and pulled it away from the stones. It came away reluctantly, the vines twisting and rustling and snapping as they released their grip on the stone.

Bit by bit, the stones revealed themselves.

They were grey and rough, and there seemed to be three pieces to the structure - if you could call it that. It was pretty primitive. Below were two huge, not especially graceful monoliths, almost twice my height and more than twice my width across. Above, there was a flatter stone, laid across the pair of standing stones like a lintel across a doorway…

I paused, my hands still full of leaves and vines. The wind blew my hair across my face, and I tossed my head impatiently, trying to clear my hair from my eyes. That niggling sense of _familiarity_ was growing stronger by the moment.

Seized by a sudden, visceral certainty, I walked backwards, step by step, until I had the trio of monoliths in my sight.

They did, I decided, look awfully familiar – although there was only the one set. The last time I'd seen something like this, the stones had all been standing in a circle.

I stared. "I don't fucking believe it," I said hoarsely. "I don't…no. Only crazy people believe they're actually magi-" I paused, and actually _thought_ about what I was saying. Crazy people. Magic. _Hah._ "Oh, no. You have _got_ to be kidding me." I didn't know who I was talking to, but I didn't really care. The idea that had just dawned on me was too big to keep penned behind my lips. "Shit. This doesn't lead where I think it leads, does it?"

"Yes," answered a thoughtful voice behind me. It was quiet, yet deep – the kind of voice that people turned to hear - and there was a power in it that ran through me like the tolling of a gong. "Yes, and then again…no."


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: It's been a long time coming. Cheers, everybody.

_Stand in the place where you live_   
_Now, face north_   
_Think about direction_   
_Wonder why you haven't before_

_If you are confused, check with the sun_   
_Carry a compass to help you along_   
_Your feet are going to be on the ground_   
_Your head is there to move you around_

_If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling_   
_Listen to reason_   
_Season is calling_

_So_

_Stand_

_\- R.E.M., "Stand"_

* * *

I spun to face him, and nearly fell.

He was _there._ Not just there, as he had been in my dreams, either waking or sleeping, but truly, powerfully _there,_ and the sense of his presence had the same effect on every fiber of my being that a supernova usually had on neighboring planets.

I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, and was enraptured.

I saw the flickering play of light and shadow on the forest floor, and was dazzled.

The endless keening of the wind played a lullaby in my ears, and I was soothed.

I think I dropped to one knee. It wasn't intentional. I was trembling, dazed, and I wasn't sure if I could even stay standing. No – scratch that. I _was_ sure that I couldn't stay standing.

And then he was right in front of me, and his hands felt warm and solid and _real_ , and they were twining around mine, lifting me to my feet.

"No," I heard him say. His resonant voice was stern, but I though I detected an undercurrent of gentle humour, rippling just beneath his words. "Those who follow me, follow on their feet - never on their knees. Stand, my Rebecca."

 _Easier said than done,_ I thought, because I was too stunned to talk, and I heard a soft, amused chuckle in response.

A flicker of irritation cut through the bedazzlement. "You're doin' it again," I mumbled.

"Doing what?"

"Readin' m'mind."

"No. I simply know how you think, my dear." He arched an eyebrow at me in mild reproof. "Haven't we been through this?"

I squinted up at him through a veil of disheveled hair. He was so bright in my sight that he was hard to look at, and he was smiling at me in a way that suggested that he'd never been happier to see anyone in his entire life. Immortal existence. Whatever. "You're…here?" I asked him, forcing the words past my lips with difficulty. Nothing seemed to work. It was as if I'd been zapped with an electrical current, and although the effect wasn't completely displeasing, it _was_ making it damned hard to think. "I mean…really here?"

"Yes," he replied simply. He looked around the clearing, admiring the view. "I thought I might take a walk," he added, a little too innocently. "It is a lovely day."

 _A walk,_ I thought blankly. _From where?_ I tried to recall my map. We were in the Dalelands. There were lots of places here. _Shadowdale,_ I recalled, with an effort. _Scardale. Daggerdale. Myth Dra-_

_Oh. Oh!_

I blinked a few times. "You came from Myth Drannor?" I asked faintly.

"Yes."

"Oh." I mulled over that for a while. "Where is it from here?" I asked eventually.

Without looking away from me, he lifted a hand and pointed. "Over that rise," he said calmly.

I looked where he was pointing. All I saw was more forest, but if Shaundakul himself said that Myth Drannor was thataway, then it was probably a given that Myth Drannor was, indeed, thataway. "So," I said eventually. "You came here. From Myth Drannor. In the flesh."

"Yes."

"Because you wanted to go for a walk."

"Yes."

"Mmh. I see." I paused meditatively, still clinging to his hands and blinking in bemusement. "Okay. May I say something?"

"Certainly."

"Bullshit."

His laughter rose like a gale. "Ah, my dearest Rebecca," he sighed. "I have missed you."

I looked up at him. _I missed you, too,_ I thought, and I didn't resist when he smiled and lifted his hand to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The gesture reminded me, suddenly and strongly, of my father, and I had to swallow a lump in my throat. "Why are you really here?" I asked hoarsely.

He cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows. "Why not?" he asked blithely.

My forehead furrowed uncertainly. "Did you come to try to talk me out of it?"

His face softened. "I came to fulfill a promise," he said quietly. Then his smile returned, faintly. "And because I always enjoy your company, my fierce, tender-hearted, magnificent little falcon."

I averted my eyes from his. I couldn't look into them. It was like looking straight into the sun - or maybe into the soul of the world. "Even if this is the last time you ever get to enjoy it?" I asked.

His soft sigh ruffled my hair. "Especially then," he murmured.

A million conflicting emotions all rattled their chains and screamed at me, deafening in their cacophony. I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled my hands loose of his and turned away, wrapping my arms around myself protectively. My eyes fell on the standing stones. "So, this is it?" I asked, my voice strained. "This is the portal?"

I couldn't see him – yet, weirdly enough, I felt it keenly when the glow of his presence became more subdued. I hoped that wasn't my fault. I'd upset my friends enough as it was. I didn't want to upset my god, too. "Yes," he said evenly.

I crossed and re-crossed my arms. My heart beat out a jittery staccato. "Can…can I look first?"

I felt his presence shift, and saw the swirl of a cloak out of the corner of my eye. "I can show you what lies on the other side," my god offered quietly.

I gulped. "W-would you?"

"If you wish." In my peripheral vision, I saw his hand move. Between the standing stones, the air shimmered like water. Then it stilled, and on the other side…

I sat down, precipitously. An unsteady splutter of laughter escaped me. I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep it in, because my eyes were blurring and I wasn't sure if I could keep the laughter from turning into tears. "Oh, my god," I said into my hand. "It _can't_ be…it is. It _is_. I don't believe it. I don't fucking believe it."

I felt Shaundakul sit down next to me, in the meadow grass. "You know this place?" he asked curiously.

I stared at the circle of standing stones on the other side of the portal. It looked familiar. So did the sheep. I'd never seen the place without the sheep. They seemed to be as necessary a part of it as the stones. "Sort of," I said. "I mean, I've only been there once or twice, but…" I trailed off. Weakly, I started to giggle. "Oh, my god. Do you have any idea how many people would _freak_ if they knew about this?" I asked, my voice shaking with delighted, tearful hilarity.

It was very early morning on the other side, that time of day when everything still looked rosy and bruised-looking. The only things that were moving were the sheep and the birds. It was hard to tell what season it was, though there was a quality to the light and a frost-hazed look to the grass that suggested fall.

Nobody seemed to be around. If I went through now, I could probably jump the ropes that ran the perimeter of the stones and vanish with no one the wiser. Then I could ditch my armor somewhere – my linen undershirt and the leather pants and boots might look a little strange to the natives, but they'd pass without too much comment – and find the nearest highway. From there it was just a matter of hitching a ride into the city, finding a discreet jeweler somewhere who wouldn't mind paying cash for a few pieces of gold, and catching a plane back home…

Shaundakul shifted slightly, next to me. "Recall one thing, Rebecca," he said, and the tone of his voice made me blink and look his way almost automatically. It was like steel, that voice, and would have gotten the attention of just about anyone - including, probably, other gods.

I turned my head to look at him. There was something queerly normal and practically _human_ about the way he sat, with his knees drawn up and his forearms resting comfortably across his knees. But there was no mistaking him for human – not here. Not so close to that _presence_ , the one that was all wind and rain, light and shadow, and tugged at me like the line on a kite. "We had a bargain," he reminded me, not ungently. "Before you decide your course, there is only one last thing I ask."

I lowered my eyes and turned away. I remembered. How could I have forgotten? "You want me to consider staying, before I decide to go," I said quietly.

"Yes."

My eyes to the ground, I twined a few blades of grass around my fingers and plucked them loose. The smell of it was sweet and cool. Above my head, motes of pollen floated in a sunbeam, like gold dust. The clearing had a contemplative, dreamy feel to it. The air moved more slowly here, as if the weight of years and memory demanded that the wind temper its gusts and join the stones in their slow and stately watch.

This place reminded me of the forest where I'd met Harry, so terribly long ago. That thought led to the time I'd spent with Magda, in taverns where the only thing stranger than the drinks were the patrons, and on roads where the passersby either stopped to have a drink with you or tried to shoot you and take all of your money but were never, ever boring.

I remembered the mountain shrine, where I'd first met Shaundakul. I remembered Hilltop, snow-muffled and lovely, where a golden glow had always shone out of the windows of Drogan's house, welcoming me home.

 _Drogan,_ I thought, and my breath hitched. I blinked, rapidly, and sniffed back the tears that always seemed to come up when I thought of him, now. I'd visited the place where the Netherese ruin had been, hoping – irrationally, foolishly – to find some sign that he had been there. It was stupid, but I hadn't wanted to think that my old teacher was just lying there, under so many tons of rock, without something to mark his grave, without something to show that _here lies Drogan._ By rights, there should have been a monument there, or some gigantic billboard, something to make the whole world acknowledge, to make sure it _knew,_ that it was a poorer place without him in it.

But there had been nothing like that. Just rubble and sand. I'd stayed for a while. Then I'd gone away, feeling lost.

I didn't blame the desert for taking him. I blamed Heurodis. The desert was what it was, and despite its risks – or maybe because of them - it had a savage beauty all its own. I remembered the skies, so searingly blue during the day and so brilliantly black and star-studded at night. I remembered the Bedine, fighting like tigers against an enemy they had no hope of killing, but were going to fight anyway, right until the last drop of blood left their veins.

And, at last, I remembered Undrentide, the dead city and its bright tower of glass. Even that place had had its own fascination, every street and ruined building a still and silent memory of a world that was gone beyond modern recollection. Poor Undrentide – maybe Heurodis had given it one last, fleeting taste of life, but that had only been a hollow thing, compared to what it must have been like in its glory days.

I sighed, and looked up. My eyes settled on the portal. Clouds had begun to drift across the sky in that other world. The wind was changing, the way it always did first thing in the morning.

This world was beautiful, and full of strange wonders. But _that_ one was home.

Absently, I folded the blades of grass in my fingers, over and over until their fibers frayed and began to break.

 _So, what do I do, when I get back?_ I asked myself. I supposed that I could go back, maybe try to pick up the pieces of my old life, but…

 _It's been too long,_ whispered a treacherous little voice inside my head. _Nothing's the same._ I'm _not the same._

No doubt Lois had milked all she could out of the estate by now. My missing persons file had been closed. Maybe a headstone had been put up, next to my parents' graves, bearing my name and two dates. _The last Blumenthal heiress is_ _gone_ _,_ I thought sadly. _She's_ _dead to everyone I left behind. The Blumenthal line is done._ But then, I'd never really been cut out to carry it on, anyway. Maybe it was better if I just let it die quietly and with a few scraps of its dignity, rather than dragging it through the mud first. It wasn't as if I'd known what to do with the money, or as if I'd have settled down and married some nice man who could have taken care of the money for me and given me lots of little heirs and heiresses. That had never been the life I'd wanted to lead.

Viciously, I prodded at my emotions, trying to get them to react. _You won't be able to put flowers on dad's grave,_ I told myself feebly. No response, beyond a twinge of sorrow. Dad was beyond caring, and, for my part…well, I had my memories, just like with Drogan. I'd always have those.

 _Fine,_ I thought stubbornly, and tore a blade of grass in half. _How about your friends? You won't be able to see any of them again._ Except…except that I couldn't even remember their names anymore, or picture their faces, and when I thought of the word _friends,_ a whole different set of names and faces floated by, and not a one of them was anyone who lived on _that_ side of the portal. They were all here. Every single one of them belonged _here_.

Choking back a sob, I threw the blades of grass down and clutched my hair in my hands, breathing raggedly.

The world beyond the portal was home.

But there was nothing left for me there.

Maybe there had never been anything for me there. Maybe my whole life, prior to this, had just been one big, cosmic mistake, and only now had it begun to fix itself.

Everything I'd ever wanted – everyone I loved – was here.

Some of it was even sitting next to me, conspicuously saying nothing. Letting me think. Letting _me_ decide where to go, even knowing that he might lose me in the process, because, for some completely insane and unfathomable reason, he loved me too much to take the choice away from me.

He stirred. "Not unfathomable, Rebecca," he said softly.

I sniffled, and wiped beneath my eyes with my fingertips. "Why, then?" I asked, damply.

I felt his smile. It cracked my weary soul open a notch, letting in a little fresh air and sunlight. "You are one of my kind," he replied simply.

I smiled back, wanly. My throat still ached, though it was getting better. "Yeah," I said softly. "I guess I am."

After a while, I cleared my throat and straightened up, fumbling at my belt. My fingers encountered cool metal. Pulled it out. Uncorked the flask. Lifted it to my lips.

My eyes fixed on the portal, I took a thoughtful sip of whiskey. It ignited a pleasant burn on the way down. The merchant who'd sold it to me had said it was from Luskan. Cask-aged, with a generous whiff of peat and oak and salt sea. It was a little brash yet, and could have benefited from another ten years' mellowing in the cask, but it wasn't bad. I liked it.

Eventually, I spoke. "I hear they make a killer brandy down in Cormyr," I said conversationally. I swirled my flask between my fingers, still staring pensively at the portal. "They call it Dragon's Breath. You ever try it?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shaundakul shake his head. "No," he said drily. "I have not had that pleasure."

"What, don't you drink?" He shook his head again. "Damn. No wonder you like taking such long walks. It must relieve the boredom."

My god threw back his head and laughed thunderously. "Believe me, my Rebecca," he told me, his eyes dancing with mirth. "With you around, I can _never_ grow bored."

I lifted my eyebrows dubiously. "Never is a long time."

"Nevertheless."

I blinked. Then I shrugged, smiling in spite of myself. "Whatever you say, Your Ineffable Windinesss," I agreed easily. He laughed again.

Then, after another generous swig, I corked my flask and stood, brushing grass from the seat of my pants. Without ceremony, I turned my back on the portal, hooked my toe under Silent Partner and kicked the quarterstaff up into my hands. "You'll be right behind me?" I asked, not looking over my shoulder. "Right?"

I didn't hear him move, but I knew where he was. I could have pointed to him blindfolded. "Naturally," he murmured in my ear, and laid his hands on my shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. "I will be with you every step of the way, my dear. I promise you that."

I stared at Silent Partner for a moment. Then, drawing in a deep breath, I shouldered it and raised my head, squinting at the sky. The sun was setting, which meant that south was – I turned about thirty degrees – thataway. "All right, then," I said brightly, and squared my shoulders.

 _What the hell,_ I thought. My flask was almost empty, and south was as good a direction as any other.

Then, with the wind at my back and the sun at my shoulder, I set my feet on the path…

…and started walking.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends Windwalker, Part Two: Boreas
> 
> Stay tuned for Part Three: Zephyrus, in which everyone takes our heroine for a heroine, except for one man, who's raised suspicion to an art form.


End file.
